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Full text of "Nova Solyma : the ideal city, or, Jerusalem regained : an anonymous romance written in the time of Charles I, now first drawn from obscurity and attributed to the illustrious John Milton"

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Liber Sextus. 375 

Exult ent jttv enes Pit 
Ornattt nitido luwinis aftrei 
Et grata refonentper Uta ctibUia cant ft. 

Altivlaria nfintinis 


Os & per petals JauMbtts occttpet : 
Omnis & ancipitemfc dexter A tendat in enfem. 

Ira vindice barbaros, 
Etf antes populos fitppliciis premant, 
Sawa triumphatis inneftant vincla tjrannis : 

Nettant compedibt>H dftces. 
Nee nan veridicijttdicis imp leant 
Pr&fcriptaslfges. H&c eft data gloria 

Hsec fecum raptim & ardenter expirantem, cum 
mfolitis geftibus, ac oris figuris, vocifque vehemen- 
ter accenfae modulatione pronunciantem, omnes, qui 
aderant, taciti demirabantur ; & qtiafi eadem flam- 
ma corrcpti, una intereffe cocleftibus fpeftaculis , & 
cum illo praefcntire vifi funt. Ipfe his gaudiis refocil- 
latus, macilcntus tamcn, & invalidus corpore, con-. 
fumptis pcranimi seftum fpiritibus, tamdiu in fom. 
mum abiit ut de vita dubkaretur, ne ad animi de- 
fcdionem vergeret. Sopore tandem exhaufto, revi- 
vifcere ccepit, & iridc vires fenfim recipere ; donee in- 
tegram valetudinem cum pcrfediori corporisform^ 
acquireret. Etjam annus prope convolvebatur ; quo 
tempore Solyma: cives magiftratus annuos cligere 
folent. Comitiishabitis. Jacobus cum ingenti omni- 
um ordinum afTenfu, Pater, feu princeps Senatus, qui 
in eaurbefummuseft honos, atquein eadem domo, 
& Jofephus, Duclor , live princeps Juventutis, & 
Joanna filia Sioniscdicitur. Gumquc inftarct nup- 


FroHtispitct to Vol. II.] 











/r, 4 







Joseph rides into the country with his young English friends to 
show them the family vineyard They happen to find Alcimus 
there quite drunk The practical joke played upon him On 
reaching home again, Joseph reads to them his poetical 
version of Job's curse, and ends with a vigorous defence of 
Holy Scripture 1-6 


Next morning the three friends visit the two University Lecture 
Halls, one for Philosophy, Politics, and Political Economy, 
the other for Theology, Medicine, and Jurisprudence They 
remain to hear a lecture in the Philosophy School . . 7-8 


The lecture : subject, the Creation of the World and its 

Evolution ......... . 9-22 





Joseph's sister comes to see him Her presence strengthens the 
power of love over both the young Englishmen Politian's 
soliloquy He determines to seek Joseph's advice He finds 
him playing the harp Joseph's song . .... 23-25 


Politian and Joseph discuss the imperfections of Nature and 
similar subjects Definition of Sin Is God the author of 
evil The solution of Eugenius Joseph's summary Our 
vision of God and union with Him Love to humanity 
Ode to the Deity 26-40 


The history of Philander and Antonia continued Antonia throws 
aside her Platonic methods and becomes aggressive Her 
final attempt and repulse Her deeply laid plans of venge- 
ance Emissaries arrive at Nova Solyma from the Duke of 
Palermo in search of Philippina Joseph, interviewed, and 
becoming suspicious of the truth, goes off with the emissaries 
to Philander's lodgings Philander's sad suicide and epitaph 41-50 


The strange history of Theophrastus continued He has a fresh 
attack and is in constant fear of eternal damnation His 
ravings Lucas, his physician, visits him, and also Joseph and 
his friends The latter, not wishing to produce excitement in 
the patient, retire to an adjoining room Here Joseph reads 
the " Soliloquy of Cain, the first Murderer," and speaks of the 
origin of evil, and Adam's fall and its cause The reason- 
ableness and awful nature of the doom of Hell defended 
Joseph's verses on " God's controversy with Job" . . 51-64 




The last hours of Theophrastus He dies in possession of the 

great hope of God's mercy and love in a future state . . 65-67 





The sad history of Philippina and her own true love, as told by 

Galatea, her maid and confidante ..... 69-92 


Joseph's discourse on the Higher Love His poem on that sub- 
ject The use of poetry in exercising the emotions In 
what true life consists Pythagorean principles . . . 93-97 




The two Englishmen in love Eugenius utters to the winds a love 
song, which Politian happens to hear A quarrel ensues and 
threatened duel Joseph intervenes, and delivers a long dis- 
quisition on Love, practically illustrating the blindness of 
love by a trick which he and his two sisters Anna and Joanna 
play in concert 98-1 1 1 




Duelling strongly denounced Method of repressing duels in 
Nova Solyma Codes of honour Respect awarded to rank 
and caste The true gentleman Honour due to kings . 112-118 




The three friends attend another public lecture: subject, A 

Well-regulated Mind 119-129 



The snares of life The right use of money, and its abuse 

Joseph's "Ode to the Deity" 130-139 



Apollos comes back safe to Nova Solyma He brings a letter 
from England for Politian and Eugenius His adventures with 
the pirates His marvellous escape and voyage to England 
Arrival at Plymouth Goes to London to see the owner of 
the ship which rescued him, who was a merchant there 
Eugenius is discovered to be the merchant's son Rejoicings 
and greetings in Nova Solyma ...... 140-148 


Jacob continues his account of his search for the true religion 
Justice praised as the most invariable attribute of God The 
meaning of sacrificial rites How our debt to God can be 
annulled The doctrine of Redemption in the Old Testament 
The Messiah pointed out and delineated there The great 
stumbling-block that man should be announced as God ; yet 
impious fiction cannot be the explanation Jacob prays for 
light to untie the knot, and a solution is borne in upon his 
mind, whereby the mystery of the Trinity is made easier for 
him to receive, though the solution is felt to be neither exact 
knowledge nor clear proof 149-156 





The Trinity further considered Jacob's faith How sin and 
death and Satan's devices are all overcome by the miracle of 
Divine love The fate of the wicked and the reward of the 
good The witness of the Gospels and the character of 
Christ both impress Jacob very much The progress of 
Christianity and the lives of the first Christians much in its 
favour Peroration 157-166 



The young Englishmen, after hearing Jacob's account of his 
spiritual growth, take their leave of him, so as to think the 
matter out seriously by themselves Politian seeks Joseph 
and explains to him how the visit to Nova Solyma has im- 
pressed him and brought out his religious convictions 
Joseph will not allow this to be true, for conversion can only 
come from God alone through Christ Counterfeit conver- 
sions and real conversions compared The latter the effect 
of eternal election The Adamic covenant annulled Now 
we must look beyond ourselves to the Second Adam Joseph 
compares the wicked and the good, and concludes with a 
final sympathetic appeal to be " strong in the faith " . 167-174 


Alcimus falls into a state of despair Joseph argues the matter 
with him, and tries to revive his hopes Alcimus finds peace 
before he dies His end 175-180 


Apollos meets Clemens by chance in the streets of Nova Solyma, 
and hears that Angelus is at Joppa on his way to visit them 
Eugenius and Politian ride over to Joppa, to accompany 
Angelus on his way The meeting of Angelus, Joseph, and 

VOL. II. b 



Jacob Joseph sends for Apollos to come and meet the 
young Englishmen Eugenius composes his " Ode to the 
Sabbath," and Apollos is asked to give them all " a discourse 
on the Lord's Day " 181-189 


Discourse on the Lord's Day and the Efficacy of Prayer, Preach- 
ing, Music, the Sacraments, the Bible ... . 190-204 



Angelus finishes his mercantile business While preparing to 
leave, he discovers the love affairs of his two lads His 
views on marriage He discusses the matter with Jacob 
The marriages are consented to and arranged Advice to 
those about to marry Choice, proposal, and acceptance 205-209 


Joseph's sudden loss of God's presence Apollos exhorts, advises, 
and consoles The surprise and sorrow of Eugenius and 
Politian, until Apollos explains Eugenius composes "The 
Archangel's Resurrection Call on the Judgment Day " . 210-215 


Joseph wrestles in prayer with God and finds peace His ecstatic 
vision He hears the triumphant Psalm of the children of 
Zion, as they pass "through the gates into the City " . 216-221 



Annual election of magistrates at Nova Solyma Jacob and 
Joseph chosen as leading men The marriages of the sisters 



fixed for the same day, the national holiday The great pro- 
cession, with description of the pageant in the streets and 
of the dresses The wedding festivities . . . 222-228 


The Bridal Song of Loves, a Divine pastoral drama . . 229-246 




. 253-256 















AS the days passed, Joseph could not help noticing 
how careworn and anxious his two visitors seemed 
to be. As he could assign no reason for it, he thought a 
change of air and scene might be good, and suggested 
therefore that they should pay a visit along with him to 
the family vineyard, it being the best and busiest time 
of the year. Both smiled at such an obvious pretence, 
though vexed that their loss of health was noticeable. 
However, they accepted with a show of eagerness, to avert 
suspicion and avoid further questioning. 

They all started for the country on horseback, Joseph 
riding in the middle, and occasionally, being a good horse- 
man, showing how easily he could control his steed. " I 
think," said he, as they rode along, " there is no grander 
sight than a really good rider well mounted I mean one 
who, like a centaur, seems to be part of the animal, and 
by his perfect control seems to be the one will-power for 
the two component beings. It is then, most of all, that 
man seems to be really king and governor of the whole 
animal creation, and to take his seat on the noblest of 
thrones, although one bare indeed of ivory or gold or 
gems, for his seat is upon a quadruped than which none 

VOL. II. [ 


is more shapely or enduring, and one which yields to 
every change of hand or voice or movement, however 
slight." So talking, they came to the vineyard, which 
was near Emaus (Emmaus?). 

Here something unusual which had just happened is 
mentioned to Joseph by the people of the vineyard. It 
appeared that Alcimus had lately paid a visit from the 
city, and had indulged a little too freely in their new 
vintage. Its aroma and the fumes of the wine-press in 
full working order had overcome him. 

No one made game at him they had better manners, 
for some of the labourers gave him a helping hand, and 
assisted him to a spot where he could sleep off the bad 
effects. Joseph came up just at this moment, and, looking 
at him with a sad, serious face, bethought himself of 
the rather practical lesson of making the culprit sign 
away his freedom. So he called for pen and paper, and 
wrote down ; " I, Alcimus, son of Apollos, hereby give 
myself to Joseph, the son of Jacob, as his slave as long 
as I live, and I allow and grant to him the power over 
me of life and death." Joseph read it over to Alcimus 
and bade him sign it. He, in a dazed, tipsy way, gave 
a sort of indistinct assent, and when they placed a pen 
in his hand, made a very shaky signature, which those 
who were present attested in due form. After this, he 
was left in peace, and went to sleep. 

Not long after in fact, while Joseph was looking 
through the vineyard account books the effect of the 
wine passed off, and Alcimus awoke and began to stare 
about and wonder where he was. When he noticed the 
wine-press and his own peculiar feelings, he remembered 
what had happened, and for very shame was about to 
make off as quietly as possible. But at that instant 
two servants sent by Joseph came on him from behind 
and laid hold of him. He turned round and asked them 
what they were doing. 

"What we have full authority for," was their answer. 
" You are an escaped slave, and we have to take you 
back to your master." 


This so astounded him that he could not say a word, 
not having the slightest idea what they meant. However, 
when he was brought before Joseph, he began to plead 
for pardon, with a very dejected mien. "Pity, I pray, 
the infirmity of my nature ; the intense heat and the 
strong fumes of wine took me, a moderate man, unawares. 
If I have done anything wrong, punish me fairly, and 
I will submit to the sentence." 

Joseph, not to spoil the joke, put on an air of great 
sternness. " I will not," said he, " give you a harder sen- 
tence than you have given yourself." He then handed 
him the signed document to read, and asked if he 
recognised it. 

" No," said he ; "I have not the slightest recollection 
of such a big contract." 

" But," said Joseph, " I have all these witnesses who 
saw you sign it. Do you not now discover what awkward 
things may happen from drink ? what penalties, what 
sufferings ? I could send you to the mines, to the galleys, 
to the halter ; nor could you find any way, legally, 
out of this unjust contract. But after all, is it quite 
correct to call it unjust ? Surely it is not unjust that 
who cannot keep possession of his senses or his reason 
should come under some other authority than his own, 
as you have in your case. You have made your own 
chains, and have found a master who will look after you 
more strictly than you looked after yourself." 

At this Alcimus burst into tears, and said : " I acknow- 
ledge my fault and abominate it to the highest degree. 
I am now in my senses, and sober, and I agree to fulfil 
what my folly made me sign." 

At this Joseph's sternness wonderfully relaxed, for he 
had gained his object ; so he said to Alcimus : " Since 
I see you are free from the effects of your excess, and 
likely to remain so, I hereby give you your manumission, 1 

1 E mami med mitto. There were several ways of freeing a slave, 
but the circumstances here seem to point to that method called 
manumissio inter amicos, which was carried out in the presence of at 
least five friends of the master. 


pronouncing you free in the presence of all here." And 
with that he tore the paper to pieces, and threw it away. 

After this they mounted and started for home, and 
when they arrived, Joseph offered to lend them a book to 
occupy and enliven their solitary moments a collection 
of poems that he had made. Eugenius accepted it, and 
at once recognised Job's curse turned into Latin elegiacs. 

When Eugenius had read the verses through, he began 
to praise the learning and piety that had so elegantly 
clothed the true sense of Holy Writ in its own garb of 

"Yes," said Joseph, "the Holy inspiring Spirit did not 
wholly avoid the elegancies of rhythm, possibly to induce 
vain and frivolous people not to cast aside solid truth as 
unattractive, nor is Scripture overloaded with ornament, 
lest its readers be tempted to dwell only on the out- 
ward form of beauty. Scripture really presents in simple 
language the working of man's sin and God's grace, and 
putting aside those mysteries which are as yet beyond 
us, I boldly challenge Infidelity to deny this most certain 
statement. The eternally true and righteous is here 
offered and adapted, both to the wise and the unwise, 
in such a way as to act on their daily life, and, from 
their youth up, to prompt submission to an overruling 

"In Holy Writ we have the most perfect law of God 
justice to man expounded, as well as the grounds of our 
redemption ; in fine, a full and true presentment of all 
that man should do and know. 

" None of the dogmas of the philosophers rise to the 
height of this teaching, although they have borrowed 
somewhat from God's chosen people, as Moses hints at 
when he says that all nations should see that God's people 
were a wise and understanding nation. 1 But whatever 
knowledge of the true God they had acquired, they veiled 
it from the people as a mystic secret of Nature, or 
deemed it, like the great Shah of Persia, too holy for the 
vulgar gaze. 

1 Deut. iv. 6 ; but an independent translation as usual. 


"But God is a Being to whom the eyes of all should 
look up and welcome as a father, so none of the pagan 
nations has attained to the power and meaning of religion, 
nor have their poets ever approached the Divine sublimity 
of Holy Writ. 

" Nothing, moreover, adds so much to our faith and 
to the authority of the Scriptures as the rays of Divine 
light shining so manifestly in every page. When I read 
Plato and Xenophon, I acknowledge the lofty wisdom of 
the former, and the skill and prudence of the latter, as 
every scholar must. 1 In Cicero we admit his most elo- 
quent fulness, in Virgil the majestic pomp of his powerful 
verse, but still more is the light of Divine truth evident 
as we peruse the oracles of God ; therefore that word is 
very true, ' if a man believe not Moses and the prophets, 
neither will he believe, though one rose from the dead.' 
For if a man require the truth itself, before he will 
believe what is written in the books, where else can this 
very truth be found ? 

" Nay, what careful reader of the Bible can fail at 
times to notice with holy fear passages that distinguish it 
from all human writings ? Christian writers and preachers 
early or late have never risen to its majesty and simplicity, 
even if we judge them in the most favourable light. 

" Lastly, Scripture, revealed by God, so to speak, in the 
mid-current of events, gives us the whole history of the 
world in a most wonderful manner. With Divine retro- 
spect it starts from the Creation, which occurred many 
generations before Scripture was written ; it foretells the 
fate of generations to come, and extends its glance to 
the future ages and the eternity that shall follow. 

" To show plainly that its message is perfect and absolute, 
that apostle who survived the rest, and with whom the 
book of inspired testimony came to an end, closes and 
signs his book with this terrible denunciation : ' If any 
man shall add to this book, God shall add to him its 

1 Milton, as we know, mentions his early attraction to " Plato and 
his equal Xenophon " (Apology for Smectymnuus, iii. 219, Bohn). 


punishments, and if any shall take away from this book, 
God shall take away from him his share of salvation.' 

" Originally the Divine will was privately revealed in 
visions, dreams, and inspired utterances in the time, I 
mean, of the theocracy, before our nation became a re- 
public. After that there was a written law founded on 
older documents which had been preserved. All these 
ancient revelations of God have been safely guarded right 
down to the present time by a wonderful act of Providence. 
They still remain inviolate against all the attacks of the 
enemy and the critic. Neither envy nor blasphemy can 
prevail against them, nor has the length of time weakened 
their vigour and power. To us who are born in the latter 
days, and to whom no more Divine revelations are granted 
to us, I say, they fill up the measure of prophecy, and 
are the ever-ready and everlasting test of Divine truth. 

"But to-morrow I will take you to hear our Professor 
of Natural Philosophy. He is to lecture on these very 
subjects I have been speaking about, and will illustrate 
from Holy Scripture those first great principles you wish 
to understand." 


NEXT morning they eagerly kept the appointment, 
and found the lecture halls, two in number, in 
the western angle of the city, close together, only separated 
by a kind of shrubbery. The one on the right was 
intended for a further three years' course in Philosophy 
and Civil Prudence l for those students who had taken 
their degree in Arts already, and who were thus being 
qualified to sustain their rank and position in life in the 
noblest way. 2 The very best professors and lecturers 
were engaged at high salaries to superintend their studies, 
and the students were given more liberty than in their 
previous years. Visits were allowed to the townspeople, 
and they might take part in the ordinary passing events, 
so as to gain some experience of the world before they 
made the sudden final plunge at the end of their students' 
course, the removal of too strict a discipline often leading 
to licence. 

In the other lecture hall, on the left, Theology, Medicine, 
and Jurisprudence were the appointed subjects, attended 
exclusively by the students in those subjects, although 

1 Lat. prudcntia civilis ; see before Book III., c. 4, ad fin t note 
on Pallas. 

1 Milton, in his letter on Education to Hartlib, repeats this idea of 
his thus : " The next removal (after the artes humaniores have been 
studied) must be to the study of politics ; to know the beginning, end, 
and reasons of political societies, that they may not, in a dangerous 
fit of the commonwealth, be such poor, shaken, uncertain reeds, of 
such a tottering conscience, as many of our great counsellors have 
lately shown themselves, but steadfast pillars of the State " (Prose 
Works, Bohn, p. 472). 


occasionally students attended lectures in subjects not 
their own at the other hall, if they could borrow illustra- 
tions or knowledge that might be helpful. 

Joseph arrived just when it was time for lecture, and 
took favourable seats for himself and his two friends. 
The hall was crowded with students ranged in their 
places waiting for the lecturer. They had their pens 
and paper ready to take short but compendious notes, 
such as might be written down without delaying the steady 
flow of the lecturer's distinct enunciation. By the help 
of these notes, it was possible for listeners to go back 
to an argument and reconsider it, and also to verify any 
statement afterwards. The lecturer, too, was obliged to 
carefully prepare his remarks, for they were preserved 
in black and white against him. 

The title of the lecture for the day was hanging con- 
spicuously in front of a raised pulpit viz. De Ortu et 
Occasu Rerum (The Origin and First Issue of the Created 


PRESENTLY the lecturer made his appearance, 
coming in through a door just behind his pulpit, 
whence he ascended to his usual place, and amidst perfect 
silence commenced to read as follows : 

" Speaking generally, I would say that the ancient 
philosophers are subject to strange misconceptions in their 
endeavour to discover the origin of the universe. By 
tracing their way back through a succession of causes 
they arrive, as they think, at the primary elements of 
Nature ; here they pause and take their stand. The next 
step to the great Author and Cause of all things they 
do not take. I would liken them to a man tracing a 
river to its original source he follows it back step by 
step till he finds a spring bubbling up from the dry earth, 
and because he can see no other cause, he ends his search, 
and declares that the vast, incessant flow of the mighty 
river has its origin from the puny spring. Whereas he 
ought to have carried his search farther, through the 
hidden, subterranean water-channels beneath the earth, 
till he came to the mighty parent and source of all 
rivers the boundless sea. 1 

1 That rivers had an underground connection with the sea was 
orthodox science in Milton's time. The ordinary text-books of 
Natural Philosophy took it for granted. Holy Writ had asserted it 
in Eccles. i. 7, and that was enough for Milton, and for all others 
who did not care to confuse themselves with the teaching of the new 
philosophers, which was generally believed to be dangerous to the 
authority of God's revealed Word. Milton had great independence 
of character, but was bound down to the literal acceptance of God's 
message in the Bible by all his early education and surroundings. 


" In like manner these philosophers gradually trace 
He would have echoed here the sentiments of Duport, his contemporary, 
the little Royalist Greek Professor at Cambridge, though he differed 
from him in so many other things. Duport says (Musae Siibsecivae, 

P- 65): 

Nee paradoxa amo, nee longum jam fixa per aevum 

Scita Patrum inventis sollicitare novis. 
Quin etiam et vereor, ne gens nova Philosophantum 
Ipsa novum pariat Theiologumque genus. 

As to the strange idea of a marine origin for the freshwater rivers, 
the contemporary opinion was this: The sea was higher than the 
land, but God had set its bounds and said, " Thus far and no farther." 
But its waters were permitted to sink through the hidden and sub- 
terranean crevices and crannies of the earth, and being sweetened by 
the passage, they burst forth in fountains and rills, finding their way 
back in rivers to their common mother the ocean. The contemporary 
poet Donne says : 

Earth's inward, narrow, crooked lanes 
Do purge sea water's fearful salt away : 

and Nicholas Billingsley, in his poem of The Worlds Infancy, published 
in 1658, says : 

All rivers in the world or smal or mighty 
Derive their lineage from great Amphitrite. 

There is also a fine amplification of this idea of fountains from the 
sea in John Maury's Theatrum Universae Vanitatis (Hag. Com. 1660, 
p. n); and, what is still more to our subject, we find that in Milton's 
fifth year at Cambridge, 1628-29, one of the academic theses was 
this : Origo fontium est a mart the very question. 

This remarkable account of natural phenomena could not, we may 
well imagine, stand its ground for long when the Royal Society of 
Experimental Philosophy was abroad. So in 1684 Thomas Burnet 
in his Sacred Theory of the Earth> pronounced this " so gross and so 
much against reason and experience that none, I think, of late have 
ventured to make use of it." However, next year (1685) a "Person 
of Honour " writing The Atheist Unmasked has no manner of doubt 
as to the old views being right; and even as late as 1780 (!) this 
theory was accepted in a book, on my shelves, in the following lines : 

As rivers from the sea their springs derive, 
Glide thro 1 the vales, and to the Ocean drive. 

The Methodist (A Poem) (Nottingham, 1780, p. 105.) 

Lastly, even as late in his life as 1624, that great "concealed poet" 
Francis Bacon, in spite of his Experimental Philosophy, writes : 

The Springs do fee the Rivers all the way, 
And so the tribute to the Sea repay. 

(Translation of Psalm civ.) 


their way back to the four elements, then to matter in 
general, and then to the atoms composing it ; and when 
this chain of causes comes to an end, and they arrive 
at the hidden, unfathomable gulf between their final 
material cause and the infinite power of God, their reason 
cannot bridge the chasm, or rather fails to make the 
attempt, lest the mind should be overwhelmed and lost 
in the boundless Ocean of Divine Immanence. 

" But to us is given to perceive a clear and familiar 
way by the light of God's truth, which other seekers 
after God had but very dimly perceived. For to us has 
the Great Architect Himself pointed out the plan of His 
work in Creation. Let us then hear His account, and 
not remake the world according to the words or opinions 
of any philosophers whatever ; as if, forsooth, the ipse 
dixit or the fiat lux of the best of them could be compared 
at all with the Divine utterance. Neither let us fashion 
our universe from the poetic imagination, or indulge 
in ingenious and harmonious conceits which will not 
bear the test of plain fact. Rather let us take God's 
universe just as it has come to us, in its simple grandeur, 
without going beyond or adding to the laws of Nature 
He has imposed ; neither let us hold too obstinately 
to opinions which are only conjectural. 1 Indeed, it is 

1 Possibly the Copernican theory was in the author's mind here, and 
the heresy of the " Galileans." These matters were warmly discussed 
in those days, and that voluminous and conservative old schoolmaster 
Alexander Ross (known chiefly nowadays, I'm afraid, by a couple 
of lines in Hudibras) published in 1646 a quarto volume of 118 pages 
entitled The Earth no Wandering Star Except in the Wandering 
Heads of Galileans ; and Copernicus His Opinion as Erroneous, 
Ridiculous and Impious, Fully Confuted. 

Milton's favourite theological manual for his pupils was the com- 
pendium of Wollebius, and as Alexander Ross in 1650 faithfully 
translated this into English, we may infer a certain sympathy between 
Ross and Milton in their religious views. Indeed, the friends and 
literary associates of Milton were all dead against the Copernican 
theory, and so were most of the old-fashioned university men who had 
not followed after the new philosophy; but Milton presents the 
curious instance of a mind not fully made on this debated subject 
even to the end of his life. In Milton's younger days he would 


not befitting that young men who are to enter into 
public life should waste their substance, time, and abilities 
on such unsettled subjects. Solomon, it is true, had 
time for both, but he was exceptionally favoured. Let 
young men rest content with the obvious truths which 
the world and the sacred history of it displays ; abundant 
opportunity for praising God and Tor indulging their 
speculative fancies will be found within those limits. 
They will possess a sound fundamental knowledge of 
things in general which will free them from any charge 
of ignorance, and enable them to hold sane and weighty 
opinions on the projects and inventions of the age. 1 

"Let us begin, then, with this settled truth, that all 
things are derived from one infinite Creator ; that when 
time began, the heaven and the earth, the circumference 
and the centre, so to speak, and the original matter of 
the universe with its latent potency of form, all at one 
and the same instant rose forth from nothing. 2 

" I do not mean the beautifully fashioned world as we 
now see it, or as it was in its perfection on the seventh 
day, but in its embryonic state, formless and confused, 
while, like an egg under the fostering breast of a bird, it 

certainly be against any conjectures which might seem to contradict 
God's Word, but he would never have taken up the matter in the 
bigoted, pertinacious way (ntmis pertinaater ol the text) that commended 
itself to Ross. 

The evangelical mystic J. W. Petersen, in his very fine but little- 
known Latin epic entitled Uranias, containing more than 18,000 lines (!), 
and the last Creation and Bible epic in the style of Du Bartas that 
is ever likely to be written, adopts the Copernican theory unreservedly ; 
but this was in 1720. The half-century or so made all the difference. 

1 The Baconian philosophy and the Royal Society, with which 
Milton did not trouble himself very much, are possibly aimed at here. 

1 The author of Nova Solyma had a strong objection to use the 
phrase " creation from nothing " ; he evidently disbelieves such a 
theory. His expressions are evocare e nihilo (p. 19) ; ex nihilo elici 
(p. 92); and, in the present passage (i) ab uno immensoque creatore 
haec omnia deduct, and (2) e nihilo prodiisse, all pointing to a self- 
evolving or deducing power in the Deity. 

Now, this was a peculiar theory that Milton had. The commentators 
discovered signs of this view in Paradise Lost long before the discovery 

Ch. Ill] EVOLUTION 13 

was being digested 1 into order and life by the Spirit of 
God brooding upon it ; 2 which Spirit is the primary cause 

of Milton's Christian Doctrine in 1825 made his views on this point 
certain. Thus in the very beginning of Paradise Lost we read of 

That Shepherd who first taught the chosen seed 
In the beginning how the heavens and earth 
Rose out of Chaos. 

(i. 8-10.) 

Milton's views concerning the Creation, which are occasionally 
remarkably at variance with the theologians of the period, were towards 
the latter part of his life committed to his MS. De Doctrina Christiana 
and have for more than seventy years been before the public. In 
chapter vii. he especially treats of the Creation, and if the Nova Solyma 
account and the acknowledged Miltonic account be carefully compared, 
I do not say we shall find them exactly alike, but I say that we shall 
find such striking resemblances and coincidences that they are well- 
nigh sufficient of themselves to point to the identity of authorship. 
One being written in Milton's youth, the other when his opinions were 
more matured, we may expect to find differences between them, but 
there seems ample internal evidence that they were both written by 
one hand, and came forth from one exceptional intellect. 

1 Substantia . . . incomposita quam Deus postea digessit (Milton, 
De Doctrina Christiana, vii. 138), using the same peculiar idea. 

3 Here indeed we have Milton's sublime ideas twenty years before 
they appeared in Paradise Lost: 

Thou from the first 

Wast present, and with mighty wings outspread, 
Dove-like sat'st brooding on the vast abyss, 
And mad'st it pregnant. 

(Paradise Lost, i. 19.) 

On the wat'ry calm 

His brooding wings the Spirit of God outspread, 
And vital virtue infused and vital warmth 
Throughout the fluid mass. 

(Paradise Lost, viii. 234.) 

As to " embryonic state " (foetus in the original of Nova Solyma), 
compare : 

The Earth was formed but in the womb as yet 
Of waters, embryon, immature, involved, 
Appeared not. 

(Paradise Lost, vii. 277.) 

Our Authorised Version ot Gen. i. 2 is : " The Spirit of God moved 
upon (Vulg. ferebatur) the face of the waters." But Milton went to 
the original Hebrew, and when he had occasion to refer to the passage 
in his De Doctrina Christiana, translates it Spiritus Dei incubabat. 


of movement in the universe, and through it the lifeless, 
elementary matter of chaos is moulded and tempered 
and vivified. 1 After that, gradually, through six days, 
that the process might be clearer to us, was the natural 
order of all things arranged and completed. 

" First of all, light or fire is educed [eductus] ; nor of 
fire is there any other description. This occupies the 
highest region, and by means of it all other things are 
illuminated. This, however, is not a new creation of 
fire, but rather a bringing of it forth from darkness so 
as to be separately visible, and the same may be said of 
the great lights of the firmament made on the fourth day, 
for it is clear they were not newly created, but were 
spheres formed out of the pre-existent fire, and so also 
the stars." 2 

This lecture, possibly an old college exercise, proceeds 
at considerable length to discuss the further formation 
of the world in six days, and other cognate subjects, 
according to the cosmological ideas of the time. These 
are now so utterly out of date and out of all touch with 
our present knowledge, that it would be tedious to follow 
the lecturer right through to the end, but nothing of any 
interest is omitted in the following: 

(i) The history of Creation as Moses gives it is the 

It must be remembered, however, that the embryonic idea and the 
brooding bird were both in Sylvester's Du Bartas^ that favourite book 
of Milton's youth (cf. edit. 1621, pp. 7, 8, etc.). This conception may 
possibly be traced originally to the very old myth of the world-egg. 

1 Milton was somewhat friendly to Quakers in later life. Now, 
according to Barclay, they held exactly the same view of the Creative 
Spirit. " By the moving of His own Spirit He converted the Chaos of 
this world into that wonderful Order wherein it was in the beginning " 
(Quoted by Masson, Life of Milton, v. 24). 

3 That rare and curious book N. Billingsley's Koo-/no/3pe<^i'a, written 
about the year 1650, illustrates well the learned opinion on this subject 
of the lecture. As to pre-existent light or fire and the sun and stars 
on which it was afterwards bestowed, cf. Paradise Lost, vii. 243-49, 
354-69. This view was a pretty general one then, not by any 
means Miltonic. 

Ch. Ill] COSMOLOGY 15 

test stone (Lydius lapis} by which all the opinions of 
philosophers must be tried. 

(2) All sensible objects consist of matter and form. 

(3) Matter has not existed of itself from eternity, nor 
has it evolved its forms of or from itself. 

(4) Matter and form cannot be separated, and have 
been joined from the beginning ; but under the influence 
of the Creative Spirit a separation of the chaotic mass 
was made into the four elements, even as a heap of 
money may be separated into four treasure chests (in 
quatuor loculos}. Cf. Milton, Paradise Lost, iii. 712 : 

Order from disorder sprung. 
Swift to their several quarters hasted then 
The cumbrous elements Earth, Flood, Air, Fire. 

(5) The four primary elements form the bases of all ele- 
mentary forms, and hold latent within them the potencies 
of matter ; or, as the lecturer prefers to state it, as more 
agreeable with Scripture phrase, they "have their seed 
within themselves." These seeds do not exist apart 
from the elements, and therefore are most difficult to 
identify or trace. But God has collected these seeds from 
the elements when these latter have been duly intermingled, 
compounded, and fused, and thus has He brought forth 
the forms themselves. 1 

(6) Corruption or decay is nothing more than the break- 
ing up of a composite form into its component elementary 
parts or principles, which are incapable of destruction 
or annihilation ; otherwise there would have to be a new 
creation. 2 

(7) When God had thus prepared His very beautiful 
Palace of the World, He brought into it its lord and 
master, made of the dust of the earth, but having his 

1 This surely is a very sane notion to have, considering the little 
that was known then of* electrical power, crystallisation, and other 
great advances in scientific knowledge ; but see note at end of lecture. 

3 Here our author seems to have been led on by logic towards the 
great scientific facts of the present age the indestructibility of matter 
and the conservation of energy. I did not think such views were in 
the air in those days. 


life from the breath of God, 1 and thereby differing from 
the animal creation, which consists only of earthly ele- 
ments, and had not infused into them a spirit which 
would return at their dissolution to God who gave it, as 
was man's case, as Scripture tells us. 

(8) The angels were created separately, and were in- 
corporeal beings without any generative powers. 

(9) Men are created, body and soul, daily in accordance 
with that original command of God, " Increase and multiply." 
Thus our bodies and souls are propagated in the natural 
law of generation, and having originally received the 
" breath of God," and made after His likeness, we are 
endowed with distinctive reason, and are capable of 
immortality. Semi-human monsters have no foundation 
of fact. The marvels told of Africa and the Nile, and 
the fables of Pyrrha's stones turned into men, are not 
worthy of belief. As for mermaids and such prodigies, 
they may resemble us in face, but the reasoning soul 
is the possession of man alone. Unnatural connection 
between man and beast can produce no hybrid, but the 
result is either a human being or an animal, as God 
may will ; but should it be human, it will tend to develop 
the appearance and shape of that animal whence it 
sprang ; and so too with the beast. There are frequent 
examples of these, but the line of separation is well 
preserved, and the offspring is always endued with reason 
and capable of immortality or the reverse. Brutes cannot 
reason, although they may seem to make inferences in 

1 This idea of the world as a palace prepared for man is of frequent 
occurrence in Du Bartas, that favourite author with Milton. In 
Sylvester's translation of Du Bartas, at p. n, we find it said of God 
and His six days of creation : 

But working with such Art so many dayes, 
A sumptuous Palace for Mankinde to raise. 

And again at p. 125 (edit. 1621) : 

A wise man never brings his bidden Guest 
Into his Parlour, till his Room be drest, 
Garnished with Lights, and Tables neatly spred 
Be with full dishes well nigh furnished ; 
So our great God, etc. 


accordance with reason. These inferences of theirs never 
show that they truly transcend the world of mere sense 
and rise to the higher intellectual sphere. It is man 
alone who can do that, and see another world in the 
world around him ; can admire the wonderful works of 
God, and can rise to a perception of the great idea 
that underlies all Nature. 

Hence, too, he is able to correct the error of his 
sensual feelings. It is because man has a distinctive 
soul that he sometimes breaks with violence the links 
that bind him to life. Conscious of his own liberty, and 
fretting under the burden of the gross matter to which 
he is united, he frees his spirit by suicide. This no 
mere animal ever does, even in the most extreme peril 
or pain. Whence man is clearly not derived from mere 
material forms, which cannot rise beyond themselves, and 
without doubt is destined for a higher state. 

The peroration of the lecture is as follows : 

" Many, alas ! put aside the testimony of their conscience 
and the moral necessity of a last great day of account, 
and give up the hope and assurance of eternal life, 
yielding to arguments, plausible, it may be, but uncertain. 
Such men, I fear, do not sufficiently consider the power 
of our Infinite Creator, who so long has maintained this 
vast material universe with its elements and revolving 
orbs without signs of decay or age. Seeing before us 
this great evidential fact, can we deny His power to 
sustain for ever any part of it that may seem to Him 

" We indeed embrace and hold fast the hope of 
immortality for ourselves, and we follow after such things 
as make for it. 1 Ponder this, that if there be no future to 
look forward to, how God has wasted His labour in framing 

1 Cf. Cicero in the Tusc^llans : Me nemo de immortalitate depellet. 
"I shall never forget," says Chancellor von Miiller, Goethe's great 
friend, " the night on which Goethe exclaimed, ' Do you think I am 
to be frightened by a coffin ? No strong-minded man suffers the 
belief in immortality to be torn from his breast ' " (Sarah Austen, 
Characteristics of Goethe^ iii. 324). 

VOL. II. 2 


the universe, and what a vain, unprofitable creature is 
man. For consider what our life is, and, taking the 
pleasure with the ills, who would not say that sleep and 
repose made up the best and most desirable part of it ? 
and these are most akin to death. But with a hope 
of eternity, slight and distant though it be, every wise 
man would set at nought all the accidents and events 
of life, putting them aside in comparison with that hope. 
For what is there here below that even approaches per- 
fection ? what is there that is sure or certain or free from 
alloy? what is there in this world that can ever fully 
satisfy the desires of the mind, or fill the aching void? 
There is indeed nothing, unless it be this great expectation 
of eternal happiness implanted in us by our very nature." 

This account of the creation of the world is a peculiar one. It is 
by no means the ordinary simple Mosaic or Biblical account, turned 
into a lecturer's Latin. On the contrary, it is considerably varied and 
amplified, and follows generally and even closely the account of 
Du Bartas in his Premiere Semaine ou Creation du Monde, and 
the similar but much more condensed account of Hugo Grotius in his 
Adamus Exul. Parallel passages could be produced in abundance, 
if room could be spared, but any reader can verify the statement. 
Now, these were favourite authors with Milton ; Du Bartas, indeed, 
was his first love in literature, and Grotius the object of his special 
admiration, to whom he made a personal pilgrimage when on his way 
to Italy. In fact, Milton imbibed their cosmogony at an early age, and 
retained it even until those days of latter darkness when he dictated 
Paradise Lost. 

There, in Book VII., as all lovers of Milton well know, the Archangel 
Raphael (the " affable" one) recounts to Adam in many pages the great 
process by which our world came forth from the Word and Power of 
God. There, too, in Book III., another angel, Uriel, treats of the same 
subject in his reply to Satan, who in disguise had asked deceitfully 
about the new creation and the man whom God had therein placed. 
Now, both these angels give virtually the same account of the creation 
as the lecturer gives in Nova Solyma. Such a strict agreement on so 
difficult and intricate a subject would hardly be likely to occur in the 
ordinary course of literary exposition. Two or more writers would 
naturally be in agreement if they simply confined themselves to a pure 
Biblical relation of God's work, and in that case no inference could 
be drawn one way or the other from their persistent similarity. But 


in our case there are particulars of agreement which are quite extra- 
Biblical, such as the way in which the primeval light was disposed and 
used afterwards to form the stars and sun. Then there was the debita 
temperieS) or "the necessary vitalising warmth," referred to by the 
lecturer a second time in his phrase stating how God elementarem 
massam atque congeriem temperavit^ and both these expressions of 
our Romance are exactly and most poetically rendered by 

On the watery calm 

His brooding wings the Spirit of God outspread, 
And vital virtue infused, and vital warmth 
Throughout the fluid mass. 

(Paradise Lost, vii. 234-26.) 

These and other parallelisms point to Milton's handiwork in the lecture. 
Moreover, who but Milton would found a college lecture almost wholly 
on Dti Bartas ? 

In this lecture there are one or two opinions contrary to what Milton 
expressed later in life in his Doctrina Christiana. This may be 
accounted for either by a change of opinion as the result of more 
matured thought, or the present thesis may be a college lecture of 
which Milton took copious notes, and having these by him inserted 
it in his book. It is to be noticed that it is not Joseph who gives these 
opinions, and it is Joseph especially who represents the author of 
Nova Solyma. One divergency is the particular daily creation of 
souls, which the lecturer seems to hold, and which Milton attacks very 
strongly in his latest theological compendium, his own view being 
" that the human soul is not created daily by the immediate act 
of God, but propagated from father to son in a natural order " 
(Christian Doctrine, IV. vii. 189, Bohn's edit.). But the lecture is 
by no means explicit on this well-known cntx, which staggered so 
many great intellects, including Augustine in some part of his life. 
All that is said is that God creates souls daily, secundum primae 
institutionis legem, which law I take to be that of Gen. i. 28 : Crescite 
et multiplicamini ("Be fruitful and multiply"). So the meaning may be, 
after all, only this that God creates souls daily by the agency of man's 
obedience to the command laid upon him. In Milton's college days 
the accredited book on the subject was the De Formarum Origine of 
William Pemble, printed both at Oxford and Cambridge. Pemble 
is against the theory of the soul's propagation, and a college exercise 
would most likely take that view. 

The other difference is that in the lecture the animals are said to 
have been produced from the material elements only, without the 
breath of God being infused into them as it was into Adam, and the 
text is Eccles. xii. 7. Whereas Milton clearly states : " Every living 
thing receives animation from one and the same source of life and 
breath," his texts being Psalm civ. 29, 30, and Eccles. iii. 19 
(Christian Doctrine, IV. vii. 188, Bohn's edit.). But Milton admits 
a little farther on (p. 194) that Eccjes, xii. 7 indicates the nobler 


origin of the soul implied in its being breathed from the mouth 
of God which is possibly all that the lecturer wished to assert. 

The doctrine of seminal forms (semina formarum) is curious God 
collects them from the clash and intermingling of the four elements. 
This the lecturer puts forth as his own opinion, and more in accordance 
with the Mosaic teaching. By a strange coincidence it was Milton's 
idea in Paradise Lost, ii. 900, etc., and his name there for the semina 
formarum is "embryon atoms": 

For Hot, Cold, Moist, and Dry, four champions fierce, 
Strive here for mastery, and to battle bring 
Their embryon atoms, . . . 

which thus must ever fight, 
Unless the Almighty Maker them ordain 
His dark materials to create more worlds. 

Not only in his great poem, but in his prose works as well, we find 
this remarkable theory of seminal forms in matter. In De Doctrina 
Christiana he speaks of the original matter of the world as a semi- 
narium (iv. 179), and in his Doctrine and Discipline of Divorce he 
speaks of " a two-fold seminary or stock in nature " (iii. 207). 

Philosophers, by common consent, acknowledged that every form 
is produced from the potency of matter (potentia). Milton states 
this (Doctrina Christiana, vii., ad fin.), but he himself prefers to look 
upon matter as a seed plot (seminarium). He prefers the word 
possibly because it is Scriptural " whose seed is in itself " ; and in 
Nova Solyma the semina formarum were thought to be more in 
accordance with Scripture teaching. Surely this is an undesigned 
coincidence, pointing to Milton as the author of Nova Solyma, for 
Pemble, who was the great authority on the origin of forms for the 
universities, and who is generally followed in the lecture, makes no 
mention of any seminal theory of forms. 

Before leaving this curious pre-scientific subject, it may be interesting 
to note the important part that " seminal forms " played in the 
explanation of the origin of fossils a little later. The learned held 
(c. 1700) that " fossils are generated from the seminal forms of beasts 
and fishes " i.e. small and light particles which remained in their 
dead bodies even when putrefaction had set in. There were eventually 
either blown about by the air, or swept away by the water and carried 
through apertures and cracks on the earth's surface ; then by magnetism 
and subterranean heat and the vis plastica naturae, helped by the 
spiritus lapidificus and the aura seminalis, the fossils were turned out 
ready made and perfect, similar to their original beast or fish. Among 
others, C. N. Langius held this view, which he had partly borrowed 
from Luidius i.e. Edward Lhuyd. But geologists will find more about 
this in the amusing Specimen Primum Lithographiae Wirceburgensis, 
by the joint authors Hueber and Beringer. 

Last of all, there is this fact to be noted viz. that in the academical 


year 1628-29, when Milton was up at Cambridge in his fifth year 
of residence, the Act, or public disputation, consisted of three theses to 
be debated. The first was : Productio animae rationalis est nova creatio 
i.e. " The production of a rational soul is a new creation." 

Now, the lecturer would not admit a new creation either for souls 
or composite forms, and we know Milton's view that the soul was 
propagated, and we also know that Milton was in Cambridge when 
the Act was held, and therefore extremely likely to be present. 

So again I will try and drive my point home by asking who was 
a likely man to publish a book in 1648 anonymously, containing a 
lecture full of academical quiddities more than twenty years old, which 
had been, it is true, debated in the schools at the annual certamen 
literarium at Cambridge, but were now probably forgotten even there, 
and certainly of little interest to the non-academical world ? Who so 
likely as the cunctative Milton, a true Fabius in his literary work, 
who would keep his scrolls in his desk for forty years (some of them) 
rather than burn them or publish them ? Who else, in 1648, would 
have such antiquated academic matter in his portfolio ? Who else 
could dish it up in such good Latin and such a high sericus tone ? 
and who could season it in so exquisite a fashion with heroics and 
lyrics and anacreontics of the finest flavour, with " a Divine Pastoral 
Drama in the Song of Solomon," or a " brief model of the grandeurs 
of Job," not to speak of those frequent songs throughout the Law 
and the Prophets which are used to illustrate and adorn the excellent 
setting of prose wherein they are found ? My argument for Milton 
is not only special and direct, but it is so cumulative that every dozen 
pages or so adds a stone to the heap. I know the cumulative argument 
can be fallacious, especially if we have to do with Scripture texts. 
Many years ago I well remember there was a good instance of this. 
A certain Edward Hine (as far as I remember the name), who was 
a shining light among those who accepted the heresy of the Anglo- 
Israelites, published a treatise containing forty-seven identifications 
of our countrymen with the dispersed of Israel. It had a great sale, 
and converted many. What " man in the street," and especially what 
"woman in the street," could hold their own opinion against a man 
who had forty-seven different ways of proving his ? It was a success 
of the cumulative order of reasoning, but was not worth the paper 
it was written on. This man and his book sometimes rise before me 
in ghastly form when I am pressing the cumulative argument for 
Milton ; but I am consoled by the thought that as not one of his forty- 
seven arguments ever had any convincing effect upon me, therefore 
I may be a little better judge of evidence than the man or woman in 
the street. However, quot homines tot sententiae still holds, even in 
these days of Board Schools and University Extension the Bacon- 
Shakespeare question is a good instance of this. I know extremely 
sensible men, and scholars too, who hold exactly opposite views on 
this moot point. I think my plea for the Miltonic authorship of Nova 



Solyma is of a very different character. I do not attempt to dethrone 
the greatest poet and dramatist our country, not to say the world, has 
ever seen on the merely probable grounds of indifferent education, 
limited vocabulary, and rude habits of life, for transcendent genius 
can overcome all these, although to what degree it can do this is ol 
course a matter for each one's opinion. In my case I do not seek 
to dethrone, but to exalt. The high serious tone of Nova Solyma, 
the purity, the love of God and virtue, the impassioned prose one 
meets with again and again, and the still more impassioned lyrical 
pieces and lofty heroics, would be an honour for any man to claim 
as his own. I seek to give that honour fairly and clearly to Milton ; 
and if any man of that age can be shown to have a better title, I 
withdraw the claim for Milton, perfectly contented to have introduced 
an interesting, most novel, and many-sided romance of the seventeenth 
century to English readers.' 


THE lecture being ended, they returned home. Here 
they found Joseph's sister, who had come to see him, 
and excuse her absence from home when he last called on 
her aunt. To see her, and to hear her pleasant converse, 
brought back their old and passionate dream of love, and 
when she had gone, Politian took himself apart to a 
quiet spot, and tried to compose his excitement by self- 
questioning and reverie. 

" Ah, woe is me ! How doth my passion waste and 
torture me, and how it hath become mine enemy ! And 
yet, what have I lost, and how can I complain? If I 
had never beheld this fairest of virgins, I should be now 
free from my pain ; and now, when I have just enjoyed 
her presence, I feel the pain keener than ever. 

" Yet who else is to blamed ? Surely not Dame Nature, 
whose gifts to my loved one receive and deserve my 
highest admiration. Surely not the fair maid herself, for 
she is so artlessly innocent of Love's bewitching power 
that she knows not that my heart is hers. 

"How near akin is Love to Envy that Envy which 
wastes away with longing for another's treasure ! He too, 
my friend Eugenius, seems fond of her ; but who can 
endure a rival in love ? You ought to pardon me, 
Eugenius, if I am no less impressed by her charms than 
yourself, and cannot give up my blissful hopes. 

"But who could have believed that her own brother is 
our rival in love, and tries to keep her away from us ? 
Well, I suppose the greatest saint could not resist her 



Divine beauty, nor are the ties of blood able to check 
Love's great desire when rushing madly on." 

These thoughts, and worse than these, coursed through 
his brain, staining his mind and conscience with fancies of 
murder, plunder, and all that was bad, till the flame of 
honour, reasserting its power in his breast, made him 
abhor such dastardly suspicions and bid them begone. 

" Away, ye furies of a love-maddened brain ! Away, 
thou prompter of the foulest crimes ! Thou art bringing 
to nought the pure and happy life we are leading here, 
and robbing me of my best friends. When I consider 
the thoughts thou inspirest in me, I feel I must not 
only renounce thee as a baleful monster, but exorcise thee 
too with the direst ban. O Politian, flee from these secret 
thoughts and communings, and rejoin your friends, before 
these hidden seeds of love-lust break forth into open rage 
and hatred." 

At that he straightway rushed forth in search of Joseph, 
whose good influence on himself he had not failed to 
recognise. He could not see him anywhere in the house 
at first, but he happened to hear the sound of a harp 
from a room near, so he opened the door, and found 
Joseph playing and Eugenius an absorbed listener to the 
accompanying recitative. 

This world of ours has many a pleasant sight 
To gladden mortal eyes. For here the rose 
Doth ope, with blushes deep, her budding charms, 
And all her little lips do pout and curl. 
Here the tall lily lifts her milk-white neck; 
And here is ivory, and the lustrous sheen 
Of tawny gold ; ! and here pellucid gems 
Lit up with sparkling rays of various hue ; 
While night by night Heaven's starry torches blaze 
With youthful vigour in th' eternal sky. 
All these are passing fair; but fairer still 
Is that one matchless grace in face and form, 
The sweet, pure loveliness of tender years 
In youth or maiden seen ; for this doth draw 
Our inmost hearts to strange affinity. 

1 Fulvi aura metalli. Cf. Aeneid, vi. 204. 


Yet all flow forth from one great Source Divine, 
From Thee, O Father, and Thy power supreme. 
Just as the Cynthian king, 1 when earth is hid 
Beneath the fleeting shadows of the night, 
Uprising, spreads his beams o'er all the sky, 
His vast domain, paling the lesser lights 
Of Heaven, and her his queen, whose dusky orb 
Now gives more faintly still her borrowed light, 
Such, and so manifold through all the world 
Is Thy great glory seen, Eternal God, 
In Nature and in man. All flows from Thee, 
And back to Thee the circling ages roll. 
The happy realms of earthly Paradise 
Are ours no more, for Thou hast cast us out 
For Adam's sin. That great primeval curse 
Still throws its shadow on our saddened world, 
Charging with folly all life's sensuous joys : * 
Our youthful vigour irrepressible, 
And all the penalties that Death demands 
Yea, all that Lust can crave with fancy foul 
Spring forth from that great sin original. 

And thus, O God, in Thee alone we see 
A thousand joys and pleasures pure and free, 
At Thy right hand to last for evermore, 
When we have crossed the flood, and reached the shore, 
To see, perhaps, a purer world arise, 
'Mid cleansing fires and angels' joyous cries. 

1 Lat. Cynthius, i.e. Apollo. Used again in Nova Solyma, p. 380, 
and by Milton (Mansus, 55). By no means a frequent epithet. 

3 Some pages farther on Joseph expresses this thought more fully 
and clearly. " There are certain natural pleasures," he says, " which 
can hardly be distinguished from what we call moral vices. These, 
in the love of God and the unimpaired nobility of our nature in the 
Paradisaical state, we may well believe, were not displeasing to God. 
But our race has been expelled from that royal pleasure-house," etc. 


WHEN the ode was ended, Eugenius gave his hearty 
applause, and Politian too gave signs of assent, 
but his distressing look of melancholy was so marked 
that Joseph asked him in friendly tones what ailed him. 
He, with a forced laugh, ignored the question, and began 
to ask Joseph if he would add to the words they had 
just heard concerning the perfection of God as seen in 
Nature a little discourse on the imperfections that were 
there as well the poisonous herbs, the noxious and 
dangerous beasts, the monsters and prodigies, the many 
ills of the flesh, and all the concomitants of death. 

Joseph, pulling himself together, as if to an herculean 
task, replied : 

"These things move me not from my opinion of the 
infinite power and wisdom of God. I hold it as firmly 
as ever, in spite of all. For these imperfections you 
mention are not to be attributed to God, but arise from 
the things themselves, which God in His power and 
wisdom does not think fit to raise from their nullity to 
His perfection. 1 

1 Here we have the unmistakable expression of the feeling that 
dominated the Platonic and Neo-Pythagorean schools of thought 
on the one hand the sense of physical and moral evil ; admiration 
of Divine perfection on the other. To explain the former without 
losing the latter, nothing remained but to establish matter or its 
governing principle as a defective and resisting element which God, 
for reasons as yet unknown, sanctions and permits. Our author, as 
a lover of Plato, Pythagorean principles, and logic, could hardly 
take any other view. In Milton's posthumous work On the Christian 
Doctrine he does not contribute much to the solution of the great 



" But I will discuss briefly some points which, although 
they show weakness in Nature, do not, however, disparage 
the Author of Nature. 

" We should not forget that God aims at variety in 
His work ; indeed, how manifold are His works in every 
division of Nature! In accordance with this intention, 
poisons differ from harmless things only in the matter 
of excess, whether of a hot or cold humour, and had this 
innate property of attraction or repulsion originally. 
Allied to this are the sympathies and antipathies in 
Nature, perhaps the nearest approach to miracle that we 
know of. Look how the owl avoids the light, in which 
most living things rejoice ; and sometimes the medicine 
that is most effective has the strongest poison duly mixed 
in it. And these varieties of excess and defect are to 
be noticed in rational creatures also ; some always <are un- 
commonly timorous, and others seem not to know what 
fear is. One man is eminent for the power of his imagina- 
tion, another for his practical wisdom, and in the brute 
creation there are always some above or below the 

" There is a curious question whether in the Garden of 
Eden the beasts killed and ate each other. We cannot 
decide this moot point with any certainty, although we 
read that before the Flood not even man was a flesh-eater, 
and even nowadays almost every animal can be nourished 
without meat. We know dogs have a keen sense of smell, 
natural to them, in excess of other animals, so perhaps 
they took to hunting down their prey in sport only at 
first, as puppies do still, and then hunger made them 

difficulty viz. that sin should exist and God not be the author of it 
(indeed, who can ? ) ; but what he does say is quite in accordance 
with the views of our text. He remarks that " God is concerned 
in the production of evil only in one of two ways: either, first, He 
permits its existence by throwing no impediment in the way of 
natural causes and free agents, or, secondly, he causes evil by the 
infliction of judgments." These last may work out for good, and 
Milton quotes Gen. 1. 20: "As for you, ye thought evil against 
me, but God meant it unto good," which is Joseph's remark to 
his brethren. 


tear and devour it. But I think it probable that in the 
beginning all the fierce and savage animals lived in peace 
with each other, and feared the royal majesty of man's 
countenance, 1 as now they turn in dread from the glare 
of fire. 

" Many of the animals are examples to man the blood- 
hound and the war-horse, for instance, for pertinacity 
and courage. 

" As for the monsters and prodigies you mention, they 
occur very seldom, and are considered more as signs and 
wonders than evils. We owe many purely to imagination 
of poets ; moreover, they draw our attention to Nature 
being more perfect in her forms than they are, and so 
commend her by their own faults. They are indications 
that God is not bound down by natural law, and some- 
times they seem the preludes of events to come. 2 

" As for diseases, they are the scourges of God, or, 
perhaps better, the fasces and axes, insignia of His Divine 
justice. They are in the same category as war, famine, 
and pestilence, which are the diseases, not of particular 
men, but of whole nations. And yet in all these we can 
perceive that Providence is full of kindly compassion by 
the limits within which the destructive elements are 
restrained. Our bodies, like watches, 3 or other delicate 
mechanical contrivances, are subject to accidents and 
alterations, still, they often last a century. Unless God 
kept the plagues and floods and tempests, which He 

1 Milton's idea. Describing the nuptial bower of Adam and Eve : 

Other creature here, 

Beast, bird, insect, or worm, durst enter none; 
Such was their awe of Man. 

(Paradise Lost, iv. 703.) 

* The Protestant literature of the sixteenth and seventeenth 
centuries is full of books, pamphlets, and chap-books concerning 
prodigies, monsters, wonderful histories, and strange relations. 
All sects were united in this faith, and held to it with the greatest 
interest and curiosity, their reading extending from the folios and 
quartos of Lycosthenes and Licetus to the catchpenny tract of a 
couple of pages. 

3 Harologia circumlatitia. The last word only occurs in Sidonius. 


purposely sends upon us, under His restraining power, 
all flesh might be destroyed again. Can the most skilful 
doctor purify a pestilential air? Can even the dogged 
Hollanders keep out the rushing tides ? Many most 
illustrious families and cities have utterly perished, but 
Nature remains, and is ever young ; the corroding tooth 
of Time makes no lasting impression on her, and her 
winter's death is soon succeeded by the life of spring. 
And who is her great Upholder but God alone? Who 
each successive year renews her age ? It is He too who 
restrains men's pride and passion within certain bounds, 
and although they rage ever so furiously, so as to confound, 
if they could, Heaven and Hell, yet by no force of arms, 
by no craft or contrivance, can they damage the world 
they inhabit, or disturb its natural progress. Nothing is 
outside His providential care, nothing so lowly as to be 
unconsidered, nothing so mighty but that it must yield 
to His slightest nod. 

" Jupiter is foolishly described by the poets at one time 
as having no leisure for trifling matters, at another as 
being overcome by the giants ; but He of whom all things 
are full must necessarily be in all things and Head of all, 
the true Deus Optimus Maximus, who regards the lowly 
and subdues the proud and lofty. He hath chosen the 
weak things of the world to confound the things that 
are mighty and the devices that are so carefully planned. 
Robbery, murder, conspiracy, and crimes of the deepest 
dye often find a loophole by which they escape. A just 
war, maintained by the highest bravery, skill, and counsel, 
has to run this risk, and at the very threshold of victory 
something may happen which loses all. It may be but 
the loss of one man, by an unlooked-for deadly blow, in 
a mere scuffle. 1 It may be a sudden and foolish panic. 
In truth, how many of the greatest things in the universe 
are so beyond our influence that we cannot lay even a 
finger upon them ! To name two only, the sunshine and 

1 There are several historical instances, but there is not enough in 
the text to help us to fix on any particular instance as being in the 
author's mind. Was it John Hampden? But this was in 1642. 


the weather, if we could purchase or hire these, when 
wanted, from a syndicate, what syndicate could be a more 
assured success ? Do you not see that the greatest wealth 
of the whole world is that which is our common property 
the sky, the air, the sea? We are common-right owners 
in all these, and in the land too, as far as the public roads 
and spaces are concerned, and these common privileges 
are of greater use and value than any private privileges 
the richest millionaire can obtain." 

When he ended, Politian, unwilling to give in, con- 
tinued the controversy thus : " Allow me to object that 
the argument you have used all the way through seems 
to lead to the opinion which holds that there are two 
Deities opposed to each other goodness coming from a 
good God, evil from an evil one." 

" No," said Joseph ; " my argument was that all evil 
arises from things in themselves. Two opposed Deities 
are impossible, for if an Infinite Deity excludes the idea 
of a companion, much more does it exclude an enemy 
or unfriendly power. Even if the Deities were equally 
powerful, -one would hamper the other and prevent His 
action ; and if they were unequal, the lesser Deity would 
inevitably be conquered and driven from His seat, if not 
altogether extinguished. So it was that the watery god 
of Egypt oppressed the fiery god of Persia ; for rival 
deities are as much opposed as contending generals. But 
if one and the same God made the whole world and all 
that is therein, what room is there for this evil god ? " 

"Yes," said Politian, "but taking that ground, you 
must be very careful to guard against God being accounted 
the Author of evil, 1 for evil and good do not flow from 
the same source." 

" Your remark is just," said Joseph, " and it leads up 
to what I was about to say viz. God is able to effect, 
and does effect, all those evils, as we call them, which are 
against our natural inclination, such as sickness, pain, 

1 Milton, in his Doctrine of Divorce, ii. 3, says the Jesuits and 
Armiuians objected that we made God Author of sin. He defends 
his ground very much as Joseph does here. 


death ; but if they are against our will, they are not against 
His will, for in that case He would be fighting against 
Himself, which is impossible. 

"In its strictest sense, evil is not so much defect from 
the Divine perfection as resistance and opposition to it. 

" God is bound by no other condition than the desire 
of His own praise and glory, and just as the welfare 
of the people is above all human laws with us, 1 so God's 
glory is the highest law with Him. 

" What I say is, that God creates all things good, and 
we call sin into being e nihilo. For it is not the fury 
of the elements, nor yet the rabid fierceness of wild 
beasts, nor the disordered state of a man's bodily health 
that constitutes sin. Sin is a monster begotten of the 
mind. Sin is our mind's free action in opposition to 
the mind of God, and to what He has prescribed. Man 
is the only animal able to sin, or able to lead a religious 
life, for all other animals are without knowledge of God, 
and without free will. God has been pleased to give 
us these two most excellent gifts, that we might be 
enabled to offer to Him ingenuous and reasonable service. 
We, alas ! often turn them to our own destruction, and 
fall from our high estate to the nethermost hell of shame 
and despair." 

But Politian, not yet satisfied, thus returned to the 
charge : " Since God is the Author and Ruler of all 
events, how shall we clear Him from being the Author 
of the unruly conceptions of our mind, which you call sin ? 
For example, the first sin of all, Adam's ; surely it was 
by God's doing that the fatal tree was placed in the 
garden, and that our first parents were forbidden to 
look upon it or to eat of its fruit, and hence it was 
that great and terrible act of disobedience followed 
which opened the fount of every crime. You cannot 
say that act came from man's free will alone, for God's 
administrative and overruling power is never in abeyance, 
and has the pre-eminence ; nay, our free will is God's 

1 Salus populi supremo, lex, one of the trumpet-calls of that party 
of Liberty (not faction) to which Milton especially belonged. 


gift, depends on Him, and works by Him. God does 
not intervene only in a perfunctory way, as one who 
helps or permits, but He rules as a King ; and although 
it were a contradiction to say that He in the slightest 
degree compels or forces our true will, still, He is the 
Author and Finisher of it. For who can believe that 
God's greatest scheme, which He had planned before 
the world was, from all eternity the redemption, I mean, 
of the human race by His Son, who is said to be slain 
from the foundation of the world, 1 and to which the 
Creation itself seemed but a prelude, who, I say, can 
believe that all this depended on the uncertainty of 
the issue of human will. All things are embraced 
within His everlasting arms, but one thing follows 
another in an external visible order, and indeed, how 
could anything be foreknown for certain, unless God 
arranged it so ? " 

Joseph replied not, and there was an interval in which 
he seemed speechless and spellbound at the vastness of 
this transcendent theme. Presently Eugenius interposed, 
and said : " This most troublesome sophism did for a 
long time baffle and silence me, but I think I can unriddle 
it now." 

"Let us hear, by all means," said Joseph "let us see 
it in your light." 

" Well, then," replied Eugenius, " first of all we must 
hold resolutely to these two certain and incontrovertible 
principles of our reason viz. (i) That all things are 
under God's Providence, and that His holiness and purity 
exclude evil absolutely ; 2 (2) That nothing can detract 
from His glory, and though He may permit mortals to 
dare to oppose Him, it is that He may turn it most 
fittingly to His own honour. We, of course, may not 
do evil that good may come, or try to turn our sins to 
the glory of God, because we are directed by God's written 
law into another path whereby we are to glorify Him. 

" My point, therefore, is that what seems, as far as 

1 Al> orbe condito caesus ; but (Vulg). ab origine mundi. Miltonic. 

2 Milton, Paradise Lost, iv. 202. 


we are concerned, evil, because it trangresses the law, 
is, as far as God is concerned, good, because it turns to 
His glory. 

" And who can reply against God, or dispute His 
privilege, when all things are from Him, and He absolute? 
Does not God give us a somewhat similar privilege over 
cattle ? We kill them and eat them, and we render 
no other reason than custom and our own advantage. 
Now, if this is allowed between us and our fellow-creatures 
on the earth, how much more between us and our great 
Creator, before whom the heavens and the earth and 
all the inhabitants thereof are but as dust of the balance! " l 

Joseph now took up the argument, and pointed out 
that the controversy continually fell back on that infinite 
authority of God, which is quite beyond our reason and 
our grasp. 

"It is an awful secret that our mind can never sufficiently 
fathom, and yet will always be searching for, and the 
deeper we go the more do we lose our heads and, as in 
a fit of giddiness, sway to and fro, now wronging God's 
providence, and now His justice. Does not He often 
warn us that the things that are revealed belong to us 
and our children, 2 viz. the precepts of His explicit will, 
but that He wishes to reserve His secrets for Himself, 
and to shut them up in an ark of impenetrable mystery? 
Truly Paul, that lucid expounder of God's truth, is here 
at a loss, and is fain to cry out, ' O the depth ! O the 
abyss unsearchable ! ' 3 And when elsewhere he is treating 
the subject at greater length, he asks : ' Nay but, O man, 
who art thou that repliest against God ? ' You see, he 
does not argue, he does not make distinctions or excuses, 
or even a reply, but he thrusts off all curious questioners 
into the limitless gulf of Divine liberty. 4 

" Let us, therefore, remit this question to that supreme 
and inevitable tribunal, to that last great Day of Account, 
when all the enigmas of life, including this, perhaps as 

1 Isa. xl. 15. * Rom. xi. 33. 

1 Deut. xxix. 29. 4 Rom. ix. 20. 

VOL. II. 3 

34 CAN A MAN [Bk. IV 

difficult as any, will be easily solved in the light of God's 
truth, in the presence of all His saints as assessors ; and 
of the wicked too, not daring to wag their tongues on 
that day. But all will know it, some to their conviction, 
some to their amazing joy. 

" Let us, therefore, while we may, humbly bow in 
amazement before the infinite, and acknowledge our own 
weakness and nothingness, which these arguments so clearly 
demonstrate. Let us not challenge God's impenetrable 
decree at the bar of our finite reason, but rather fix our 
thoughts on what more concerns us in our daily life. Let 
us consider God's precepts and our own perverse thoughts. 
Let us compare the righteousness of one with the un- 
righteousness of the other. Let us take it for granted 
as the root of the matter that none of us is without 
sin, and that we must be forgiven before we go hence 
for ever. 

" Let profane mortals hold what opinions they will about 
God's justice yea, let them utter all manner of blasphemy 
against Him ; it will be in vain. He sits secure on His 
heavenly throne, and every wrathful reviling shall He 
turn to the increase of His praise, 1 and shall reserve for 
most just judgment. 

" Do thou rather, if thou art wise, submit thyself to thy 
Judge, especially, O man, when for thy sake and for thy 
salvation there lies open such an easy and ready access 
to eternal bliss." 

Politian then intervened, and having first expressed hi* 
thorough agreement with what had been so far said, and 
his delight in seeing the thorns and stumbling-blocks that 
beset this subject so skilfully avoided, he went on to say : 
" Since, then, sin is our own creation, a millstone hanging 
round our neck, which God has not in the least helped 
to place there, let us weigh its ponderous mass, and consider 
its monstrous proportions, so as best to know what its 
nature, force, and malignity may be." 

Then replied Joseph : " That will I gladly do, for it is 
a subject near akin to God's grace and our own salvation. 
1 Psalm Ixxvi. 10. 


"Just as Virtue, if she could be seen by mortal eyes, 
would so ravish us that we should be lost in the ocean 
of her love, so, if Sin could stalk abroad in all its foul 
deformity, there is none, not even the most utterly de- 
praved, who would not start in horror at the sight. It 
is virtue that makes a soul beautiful, while sin transforms 
it to the veriest monster. Many compare sins, making 
some worse, others better ; but few estimate them accord- 
ing to their intrinsic quality, nor see that all are alike 
deadly from the very nature of sin. 1 The old philo- 
sophers, inasmuch as they never had the grace of true 
Christian humility, hardly ever notice the great character- 
istic of sin I mean its opposition to the Divine will. 
Nature was their standard, and their measure of sin was 
found in the deviation more or less from the current views 
of moral rectitude. They forgot, or never knew, that God 
is able to decree laws which are quite in disagreement 
with the common laws of our human nature, and yet most 
just in themselves, because in agreement with His will, 
which cannot err. Just consider for a moment how wicked, 
horrible, and damnable it is to fight against the will of 
God ; remember that in the whole realm of Nature there 
is not a single instance of such rebellion, and that God 
is everywhere there the undisputed Ruler. Now, he who 
sins either wishes that God did not exist, or, worse still, 
that He would be unjust. He sets at nought and tramples 
under foot God's royal majesty and glory, and dares 
to strive for his own will against the will of God Himself. 
Surely there seems something infinite in the degree of 
such a crime, though one cannot rightly call it by that 
name, 2 since it of course falls below the infinite and 
supreme will of God of which we have been previously 

1 Milton says (De Doctrina Christiana, xi. 262): "All sins are not, 
as the Stoics maintained, of equal magnitude. In the meantime it is 
certain that even the least sin renders the sinner obnoxious to con- 

1 Here the author, in advance of his time, will not allow a sin against 
an Infinite God to be therefore an infinite sin in itself, though this 
was commonly allowed and accepted as a proof for the justice of 


speaking, and since, moreover, if the crime were really 
infinite, it would in fact be another Evil Po\ver, incapable 
of exclusion, and unable to be mastered. But this we 
may assert, that the least sin is by its very nature a 
breaking of the whole law of God, l for it is of itself 
high treason against Him. Indeed, the royal, supreme, 
and universal command is : ' Thou shalt love the Lord thy 
God with all thy heart, with all thy soul, with all thy 
mind, and with all thy strength ' in fact, ' with thy whole 
and undivided self ; nor can anything be imagined more 
right and just than this. That man who refuses to 
love the Highest Good, and has no reverence for the 
Supreme Power, who denies that such things exist, or, 
admitting their reality, still is ever slandering them that 
man, I say, is trying to pull down and leave in ruins 
the very house in which he lives, and to stifle the best 
instincts of his nature. For it is our nature, so to speak, 
to cast forth rays of love towards that which is beautiful 
outside us, and to attract it to ourselves ; 2 and while we 
thus crave after ideal beauty and perfection, we never 
reach it till we find it in God Himself, and drink our 
fill, as far as we may now, from that fathomless well of 
the Water of Life which He offers to our thirsty souls. 
All worldly substitutes are vain : the more we use them 
the more our burning thirst consumes us ; they add but 
fuel to our flames. This union with God alone satisfies 
our craving, this alone stills our restless wants, or rather, 
I would say, it gives them most abundant liberty to 
wander at will through the vast expanse of God's infinite 
love. God's own eternal happiness consists in His 

infinite punishment. Milton was in advance of his time on the right 
meaning of the words " for ever and ever," which was not infinite 
duration. Cf. Milton's Works, iv. 487 (Bohn). 

1 James ii. 10. 

1 If all Puritans had possessed this lofty and noble view of our 
natural instinct, how much less gloomy would our world have been ! 
Our author was a Puritan, if ever there was one a Puritan in the 
highest sense ; but what Puritan but Milton could have penned 
such words ? 


union with Himself, nor is He doing us an injury 1 when 
He calls us also to this blessed communion with Him. 

" With what eager desire do we go to view all noble 
sights and scenes ! How delighted we are with the rich 
fancy of poesy ! What a thrill of pleasure passes through 
us when we meet with a truly beautiful form or face ! 
Or what has greater power or fascination than Love? 
But what are these compared with our vision of God, 
and our union with Him ? God has in Himself all good 
gifts, and is infinitely superior to them all. It is He 
who doth nourish and carry us, as if we were in our 
mother's womb. Without Him we could not ward off 
the assaults of our spiritual enemies, nor obtain those 
rewards which He offers to us so freely. And, last and 
greatest wonder of all, is not God, being such and so 
great as He is, willing to join Himself to us in the bond 
of mutual love? 

" To this is added the second great command, ' Thou 
shalt love thy neighbour as thyself ' ; and this borrows 
its force and authority from the first. For the man who 
obeys this second command in accordance with mere 
natural instinct, as parents in regard to their children, 
or in accordance with the dictates of bare reason, as just 
and honourable persons are wont to do, cannot thus 
fulfil God's command ; for in this way they virtually 
exclude any regard to His will and His authority. 

" And it also follows that they who act unjustly to their 
fellow-men sin against God first of all, who is the King 
of the world, and has laid this law on men with a view 
to the right administration of His Kingdom. If men 
obeyed this command, the whole world would be one 
great republic, one great commonwealth ; what peace, 
what love, what prosperity, would come back to each 
one of us ! 

" Nothing is more delightful than mutual love, nothing 

more useful, more honourable, or more worthy of a true 

man. Take this away, and a man may become to his 

fellow-man worse than a savage beast ; he becomes full 

1 The figure litotes, often used in Nova Solyma. 


of hate, envy, fury, murder, yea, if he could he would follow 
up his vengeance to the depths of Hell itself; and that 
this is so he makes evident by the vilest and most horrible 
imprecations. The love such a man has is lust, the friend- 
ship he tries to make is founded with a view to future 
deceit or fraud. 

"Nor is it only that one man becomes a pest to 
another, but vast multitudes of men, sworn in under a 
deadly compact, fitted out with all the weapons of 
destruction, adorned with standards and banners, and 
marching in due rank and order, are led forth to lay 
waste a country, to burn its cities, and to slaughter its 
principal people; and the more terror they cause, and 
the greater ravages they commit, so much the more do 
they boast and triumph in such deeds, and are handed 
down to posterity loaded with honour, this glorious 
tradition being kept up, perhaps, to cover the vile atrocities 
of our ancestors from the researches of later generations, 
or to encourage posterity to rise to like wicked barbarity. 

" But if you would like to have a proof of the awful 
and deep malignity that can take possession of a man's 
heart, hear now that saying of the tyrant : ' When I die, 
let the earth be rolled in flames.' 1 What can show greater 
kindness than God's command, or greater malice than 
this tyrant's wish? He would have the whole universe 
end with him, and become his funeral pile, and that too 
at a time when the happiness or misery of the world 
would be nothing to him one way or the other. 

1 Lat. me moriente terra misceatur incendio. The classical 
authorities are Suetonius (Nero, xxxviii.) and Dion (Lib. Ivii.). It 
does not seem that this was an original expression used by Nero ; 
it was rather a Greek verse (iambic) which was quoted by some one 
in Nero's hearing, and he added to it by saying, " Yes, and whilst I 
am alive too." Dion connects it with Tiberius, and Claudian with 
Rufinus. It most likely was a venerable "chestnut," something like 
11 Apres moi le deluge" But my chief occasion for this note is to 
point out that Milton quotes it in The Reason of Church Government, 
c. v., and that it occurs in Milton's Commonplace Book, p. 44, in 
Lord Preston's writing I have not met with it in any other con- 
temporary writer. 


" This great command includes the love of self, but 
in a restrained and dependent manner as far as we mortals 
are concerned. With God it is different : the love of 
Himself is the highest and best love in His case ; in 
ours it is the very lowest, and almost negligible, for we 
are all born into the fellowship of service, nor ought any 
one of us to look upon himself otherwise than as a member 
of the great human family and as a public citizen of 
the world. So that the command may be summarised 
thus : ' Love the whole body of humanity, which includes 
yourself no less than others, and fulfil this love in such 
a way that, as far as may be, your loss or gain is made 
subservient to God's glory and the common benefit of 
the world.' We see this principle acting in animals as 
well as in the elemental forces of Nature ; how much 
rather, then, should it hold sway with us, who are gifted 
with reason as well ! 

" He who fulfils this Divine law increases his own 
happiness as well as the happiness of others ; but he who 
studies himself only ruins himself, for not paying his just 
and natural contribution to his fellows, he becomes not 
only a bad citizen, but, worse than that, he becomes his 
own evil genius, and as he acts abroad, so he feels at 
home, and, mastered by evil passions, he changes the 
honey of his nature into gall." 

" Ah ! " said Eugenius here, " I often wonder how it 
happens that sin is able to afford any pleasure at all, 
since, as you tell us, it is a disease of the soul, and a 
a warping of Nature from her right and proper course." 

" There are certain natural pleasures," said Joseph, 
" which can hardly be distinguished from what we call 
moral vices. These, in the love of God and the unim- 
paired nobility of our nature in the Paradisaical state, 
we may well believe, were not displeasing to God. But 
our race has been expelled from that royal pleasure-house, 
and we are now degraded bond-servants of base desires. 
We are subject to our inordinate longing for what reason 
and nature forbid, and this distempered sickness of the 
soul brings with it a certain satisfaction, just as they 


who suffer from pica are seized with intense desire for 
filthy and unwholesome food. Such is the perverse nature 
of sinful man that he will, like the serpents, suck down 
most complacently poisoned food. Malice and sin are 
thoroughly perverse in their laws, reason and nature 
the exact opposite to sanctified goodness. They remind 
us of a painter who will persistently go on depicting 
horrible and shameful deformities, while the daily and 
common glories of Nature are everywhere around. They 
are like a musician who is constantly marring the harmony 
of a beautiful composition by harsh and discordant notes." 

When Joseph had ceased speaking, the fixed attitude 
and expectant gaze of his listeners evidently showed 
that they were ready to hear yet more ; but as he had 
an appointment he must needs keep, he determined to 
end the colloquy with a corollary in the shape of a few 
verses he had made not altogether unconnected with 
the discourse : 

"O Father, Lord of all the heavenly host, 

Who buildest up this earth in bonds of law, 

Each vital spark l Thy hidden impress bears ; 

At Thy behest the ever-hastening sun 

Doth mount the eastern sky to bring with him 

The rosy hours of day; the stars of night 

Do follow in their courses Thy commands ; 

Thee do the winds and mighty sea obey ; 

The fruitful earth oft vexed by threatening storms 

Still heeds Thy primal law ; while mortal men 

Alone sad thought ! seem deaf to Thy great voice, 

And rush to pluck and eat forbidden' fruit. 

What power, what force, what mighty spell was this, 

That brought such ills upon the race of men, 

And loosed from off their rebel necks the reins 

That check all else ? Oh ! why is mau so blind 

As not to see how sin begins and ends ? 

As not to see God's threatening sword of ire, 
And all around his path Hell's raging fire?" 

1 Lat. semina. The allusion is here to the doctrine of seminal 
forms mentioned elsewhere. 


WHILE these discussions were daily occupying their 
attention, Antonia was getting to like Philander 
more and more. At first there were only the attentions 
of a loving mother, but these grew stronger and less 
Platonic every day, so that thoughts and feelings arose 
which she felt at once should not be. Not long after, 
in a morning dream, she seemed to have Philander lying 
beside her in her husband's old place. The dream was 
a vivid one, and awakened her. Her first action, half 
awake, was to put out her hand in the bed, with a view 
to keep him off, but as soon as she was quite conscious 
s"he began to laugh at her own mistake and her curious 
dream ; still, when it was time to rise, she could not 
repress an involuntary sigh. As days passed on, she 
would often gaze on Philander more intensely than of 
old, and as nights passed, she longed to dream again, 
and enliven her solitary bed with embraces that were, 
alas ! but shadows. 

Her next step was to kiss her dear boy often with 
lingering enjoyment, and for this innocent game she 
gave herself the fullest absolution. Then she would 
change, and attribute Philander's unfailing kindness to 
pecuniary motives, and would plume herself on her 
wealthy position it was not for her to entertain thoughts 
of love to one so much beneath her socially and so poor. 
Then she considered what people would say if she, 
approaching forty, should take up with a mere boy half 
her age. At another time she would make herself believe 
that he was dying of love for her, and that she despised 



him, and rebuked his advances. Then again he would 
be her dear boy and her pet more than ever, and she 
would ask him his age, and try to make him out older 
than he said. She would insist that he was older than 
her son, who died at twenty-one. She gave herself out 
as about thirty, and explained that she was wife and 
mother while a mere child herself. And to keep up 
the illusion, she dressed more girlishly than ever, and 
affected a youthful mien and fascinating manners. 

Beginning thus, she soon became so deeply enamoured 
that, although Philander gave not the slightest encourage- 
ment to such an idea, her thoughts turned to marriage with 
him. She wished him to make the proposal, of course. 
Her idea was that her wealth and position caused his 
bashful silence, and she felt sure that if she could only 
dispel that idea from his mind, he would willingly try 
for such a rich prize, for he was poor enough. As a 
foretaste of the happy position he might be in, she made 
him many valuable presents, and ordered new and 
fashionable robes for him, and her admiring eyes seemed 
to tell plainly enough why they were given. She was 
also profuse in her promises, leading him to expect the 
greatest good fortune, if he would only consider his own 
interests and embrace the good chances that fell into 
his lap. She hinted that he might be her sole heir, and 
asked him to go over her accounts with her, designedly 
disclosing her great wealth, and making bitter complaints 
that she had no good man to help her in such matters. 
She said that although she had for so long remained a 
widow, she now began to see the necessity of marriage, 
and that a careful beginning was better than a bad 
ending ; that she looked not for a wealthy husband, but 
for one who would aid and solace her ; that she had 
enough to invite a devoted husband to cast in his lot with 
hers, but should not take any steps without first taking 
his advice whose prudence and fidelity she so greatly 
relied upon. She added only this, that she hoped her 
suitor would not be too old. 

She paused awhile, anxiously awaiting his reply. But 


Philander, either not really alive to the indelicacy of her 
remarks, or pretending not to notice them, gave an un- 
sympathetic and commonplace answer, quite ignoring her 
hints. Her plan having thus missed its mark, she made 
some excuse, and began to unsay all she had uttered, and 
to be quite overcome with tears and sighs at the thought 
of her lost husband. Indeed, to such a degree did her 
excitement attain that Philander was obliged to calm 
her by his entreaties, and to support her in his arms lest 
she should faint. Antonia's vexation was all the stronger 
for being misunderstood ; she was annoyed at the young 
man's simplicity ; she ridiculed his foolishness in not taking 
the obvious hint her words and actions offered. But she 
did not give up all- hope yet, for she flattered herself the 
reason of his coolness was not so much his indifference 
to her as his youthful inexperience ; so she again pursued 
her scheme. 

" My son," she said, " although I feel unequal alone 
to my great responsibilities, still, the more I think of 
marrying again, the more I dislike the thought ; but if 
you will give me a little faithful help, you will moderate 
my grief for the great loss of my husband, and I will 
reward your services even more liberally than hitherto." 

Philander thanked her, and while pleading his great 
want of experience, said she might rely upon his will to do 
her every service he could ; and so they parted, he having 
a strong suspicion that this did not all proceed from 
motherly goodwill, but was rather a lure to further some 
base designs, judging by her blandishments and embraces, 
which seemed none too innocent. Putting all things to- 
gether, it dawned upon him pretty clearly that Antonia 
wanted him for a husband or something still worse. The 
thought of such a disgraceful connection overwhelmed him 
with confusion. 

" O avenging Fate," he cried, " how hast thou caught 
me in thine entanglements ! While I, in disguise, am 
seeking my love, this very disguise makes me sought 
in love that can never be. Where I looked for love, I 
was unnoticed or disregarded ; now it comes to me in 


horrid, sickening form, unasked and unwelcomed. Alas 
for the madness of lovers and the weakness of woman, 
how fully have I lately seen their action in myself ! How 
justly do we deserve the jeers men bestow on us, if ever 
we go outside those limits of modesty that Nature has 
laid down for us, for modesty is the surest guard of our 
native frailty, and the crown of every grace." 

So saying, he went on upbraiding himself with his 
folly and unwomanly boldness of adventure. He felt 
in a strait between two either flight or death ; and 
he determined to let the events of the next few days 
determine which it should be. 

He had not long to wait. The very next morning 
Antonia, unable to endure further delay or suspense, 
determined to put Philander to a final test. Arrayed in 
all the extra charms that wealth could purchase, she 
prepared to play her last card and to know her fate. 1 
It was early, so she took the opportunity of a morning 
visit before Philander had left his chamber. His evident 
distress of mind gave her the chance she was looking for. 

" Alas ! " she said, " how ill and thin you look ! Surely 
'tis a wife you want, before the flower of your youth fades 
away, never to return." 

After a few similar remarks she said : " What do you 
think? I had such a foolish dream about you a little 
while ago." And then she told him all about it, indulging 

1 Antonia thus decking herself out, recalls Milton's Dalila in Samson 
Agonistes, who came forth " with all her bravery on." 

Critics are pretty well agreed that John Milton was essentially an 
idealist. Especially is this to be seen in his characters of women. 
As Professor Dovvden says: "The Lady of Cormis was created out 
of all that Milton conceived as admirable ; Eve out of all in woman 
that is desirable ; Dalila out of all that is detestable. Her feminine 
curiosity, her feminine love of dress she comes ' with all her bravery 
on ' her fleshly desire," and her many other bad qualities make up 
an ideal woman hateful to Milton. The Lady, Eve, Dalila these are 
the women of Milton, each a great ideal figure : one for admiration, 
one for love, and the last for loathing and contempt. 

Nova Soiyma adds three new ideals at least, Philomela, Philippina, 
and Antonia, the ideals respectively of the Woman of Pleasure, the High- 
born Maiden's chaste, unconquerable Love, and the Wanton Widow. 


the while in frequent laughter and a rather free manner. 
When she had finished her dream, and found that he 
still made no sign, she unreservedly asked him if he would 
fulfil the dream and marry her. 

Now the truth was out, Philander hesitated not a 
moment, but, looking at her with fierce and stern 
contempt, said : " Out of my sight, foul, made-up hag ; 
you disgrace your class and your age ! Can it be possible 
that you, a rich old lady of good birth, as I hear, could 
even contemplate marriage with a mere boy, and that boy 
an alien and a fugitive? How much worse must it be 
when you, with brazen impudence, seek him out, and 
yourself propose what you did just now ! Ought not 
the thought of your dead son and husband to act as 
a restraint upon you when you were meditating things 
bad enough to make them turn in their graves? Instead 
of that, you have absolutely made use of their honourable 
names to further your lascivious designs, and have en- 
deavoured to make them in this matter pandars to your 
lust. Let me tell you, as far as I am concerned, I loathe 
the very idea of marriage with you, and renounce 
altogether the friendly relationship that has existed 
between us. I do not feel in your debt, for you have 
not treated me honestly or decently, but have caressed 
and bribed me for your own lascivious ends." 

All this and more Philander vented forth against her 
in hot excitement. Antonia meanwhile was so abashed 
and confounded by this unexpected attack from without, 
and so overwhelmed by the storm of conflicting emotions 
of shame, anger, and desire from within, that she knew 
not what to say, and even if the thoughts and words had 
come to her, they could never have found a passage 
through her clenched teeth and quivering lips. The 
only other outward sign she gave was one long, deep- 
drawn sigh and those few tears that, drop by drop, 
coursed down her cheeks ; her grief, so intense, had stifled 
all those wailing cries we sometimes hear. 

Presently, in mad fashion, she rushes from the chamber 
to her own private room, hurriedly shuts and bolts the 


door, and gives way to her repressed feelings. In her 
rage she spared nothing. Her dresses and jewels were 
ruthlessly torn off, nor did she even spare her curls, not 
yet tinged with grey, which fell loose in girlish fashion 
round her head. Now she could wail and beat her breast, 
till, tired out, thought and conscience assumed some power 
in her troubled mind. At first she taxed herself more 
as the victim of a blunder than a crime. " It was his 
fault," she said ; " he should have brought me to reason 
by kind and soothing methods rather than plunge me 
into despair by his harsh tongue, sharper than any 
sword. Will not my good name be lost for ever, and 
become a public scandal, and just through him ? If he 
were only a man, he could not have failed to yield to 
such wealth, such attractions, such love. He must be 
the evil genius of our family, who has put his spell upon 
me, the last of my race, and now inhumanly glories in 
my downfall. But I will try whether he is born of woman, 
and mortal, or not. Pardon my project, O ye spirits 
of my dear departed ones ; if only ye suffer it, I will 
not come down to you unavenged. Yea, I will come 
willingly, and drag down my accuser with me." 

What she intended was to try and renew her friendship 
with Philander, and to ask him to forgive her folly, and 
then, when all suspicion was removed, to prepare a 
poisoned draught, of which they both should drink, so 
that, before they died, there would be just time for her 
to turn upon him and, with a woman's gathered vengeance 
and with a woman's dying rancour, tax him with all 
her misery and woe. This was her vengeance, dire 
indeed, aqd horrible ; but she gloated over it, and the 
thought gave her a strange solace. She began by putting 
matters on the former friendly footing between Philander 
and herself; she dressed as before, and paid the same 
attention to her hair, and (alas ! such is woman's deceit) 
behaved in the same engaging manner to him as of old. 
Yet all the time she had in a secret drawer the deadliest 
poison, brought from Italy, to be ready for the first 
favourable opportunity. 


About this time certain strangers came to Nova 
Solyma from Sicily, and asking for Joseph, they happened 
to meet him just as he was leaving his father's house 
with his two friends. When he understood their business 
was with him, he courteously begged to know the cause 
of their journey. They said they were sent by the 
Duke of Palermo to trace his daughter Philippina, who 
had escaped from their country four months ago, disguised 
as a man. Her father, enraged at the sorrow and shame 
she had brought upon them, at first took the matter in a 
haughty, impatient way ; but the loss of his only daughter 
soon altered such feelings, and he sent out emissaries 
in different directions to follow up her track. " It was 
bur mission to come here, for there was a report that 
she was in love with you, and it was thought that when 
you left Sicily she grieved very much, and soon after fled 
the country in search of you. No maiden alive could 
be more modest or better than she was ; her unconquerable 
love was her only fault, if it be one. If she has really 
fled to you, at least let her sorrowing father know ; he 
offers pardon to both, and will accept his new son-in-law, 
and when your rank and fortune are known, he will 
the more rejoice." 

Joseph was much disconcerted at their message, and 
solemnly declared that he then for the first time knew 
of her flight. " I entertained no thought of such a mar- 
riage, nor would I have consented to such an unequal 
union, had she wished it. I grieve very much for her 
imprudence, for I know she is worthy of all the praise 
you have given her." 

This was a great disappointment to the messengers, 
and, hardly knowing what more to do, they asked him 
for his advice as to the best way of tracing her. While 
Joseph was deeply considering this, as a personal matter, 
it came into his mind that Philander, who was a daily 
visitor at his father's house, was not unlike Philippina in 
features, and, apart from his sex, there was a strong 
general resemblance between them. Much struck by 
this, he determined to mention it to the messengers. 


" I ought to tell you," said he, " that we have a youth 
named Philander lodging not far off, who gives himself 
out as an Italian, but has more the accent of a Sicilian, 
whose age, figure, and bearing are not unlike your Philip- 
pina's. And, what increases my suspicion, he often pays 
me a visit, and views me with a special regard ; and now 
I think of it, he told a very similar tale to yours concerning 
himself, when we first met him ; but so far I have noticed 
no concealment of sex." 

They, elated at having thus hit on the scent, urged 
further enquiry very strongly, promising to remain outside 
the lodgings, so as not to be recognised by the damsel, 
for she had written to her father, if he wished her to 
come back again alive, not to follow her, but that she 
would return at her own time. Now, Joseph, feeling his 
good report was concerned in the affair, insisted that they 
should accompany him, otherwise he would have nothing 
further to do with the search. So they all went together 
to the house, and Joseph told one of the servants there 
that he desired to speak to Philander. " He is in his 
bedroom," was the reply ; and he began to show them 
the way to it across the inner court. Philander happened 
to be resting near the window, and, hearing his name 
mentioned, opened the lattice and looked out fearlessly, 
but with a countenance wild and deadly pale. 

At once she addressed Joseph by name, saying : " Here 
is Philander, or, if you will, Philippina, who for your 
sake fled from her country and her father's house, and 
is now at last about to flee from herself. Because I 
believed you cared not for me as I was, I changed my 
dress and sex, and embraced a humble calling, that I 
might work for you and please you, and you alone, and 
I trust I have not failed in that ; but oh ! what could I 
not have done if I had been, in the bonds of mutual love, 
your honoured wife ? Believe me, I have no Crescentia 
but yourself. Forgive my rash adventure, at least for 
the love it showed for you. Know too that Antonia has 
avenged thee, seeking to buy my boyish love. Tell my 
father's messengers, whom I have noticed already in the 


street, that they need not further trouble about me. I 
will give myself into their charge very soon, and there 
will be no fear lest I escape them." 

While she was thus speaking, the two Sicilians, led by 
the servant of the house, whom Joseph, fearing the worst, 
had sent with them, came to her door and tried to take 
her by surprise while talking with Joseph. But Philippina, 
when she thought of taking her own life, had locked her 
doors, and now, fearing they might be broken open, she 
stabbed herself in the left breast with one strong and 
bold stroke of the dagger which she had ready, and before 
those outside could break their way in she had fallen to 
the floor a corpse. When they reached her, they at once 
pulled out the fatal weapon ; it had penetrated her breast 
and reached her heart, but still they tried all known 
means of restoring life, of course in vain. 

The report of her death soon spread abroad, to the 
general grief, and Antonia, unwilling to survive her own 
shame, carried out her part in the poison plot, and while 
all were busied about Philander, she went to her bedroom, 
and, mixing her poison, drank off the whole, offering it up 
first to the manes of the victim for whom it was in part 
prepared. As soon as strength failed her, she threw 
herself on a couch, and in decent composure took her last 
earthly rest. 1 

Joseph was dreadfully moved by the fate of Philippina, 
and mused over it long and often, and much that he 

1 The curious history of Antonia, Philippina, and Joseph came, I 
should say, from the perusal of that popular romance the Diana of 
Montemayor. All people of culture read it both in Shakespeare's time 
and in Milton's ; indeed, the latter especially mentions it by name 
when referring to romances generally. For a girl to disguise herself 
as a page and thus to seek her lover was common incident in romances ; 
but for a woman to fall in love with one of her own sex thus disguised 
was by no means so common. It is this that points out Diana as 
the source of the Antonia episode. The adventures of Felix and 
Felismena appear in the second book of Montemayor's work, and these 
two characters were borrowed in part for The Two Gentlemen of 
Verona^ where they appeared as Proteus and Julia, long before they 
were revived in Nova Solyma as Joseph and Philippina. 

VOL. II. 4 

5 o THE EPITAPH [Bk. IV, Ch. VI 

had thought and composed was condensed by him into 
the following epitaph. Her father, when the messengers 
had brought home her body, ordered it to be engraved 
on her tomb. 


Fair passer by, if thou art wont to boast 
The gift of beauty and the praise of men, 
Regard it in the first stage and the last ; 

In the womb 

In the tomb. 
Here in the darkness of this grave lies hid 


Than whom no fairer maid e'er caught man's gaze. 
A tragedy of unrequited love 
She here bequeaths for all to profit by. 
Her mind was first distraught by Love's fierce rage, 
Then in despair she smote her own sad breast, 
And welcomed Death with one avenging blow. 
When rage o'erflows, sad is our mortal fate, 
And Love has victims too, no less than Hate. 

Meanwhile, since it was only fitting that the lifeless 
remains of the unhappy maiden should be conveyed 
home for her father's disposal, Joseph sent for the people 
whose work it was to prepare the dead for the tomb, 
and, as far as may be, preserve the semblance of their 
former features and arrest that foul decay that must 
sooner or later mar the fairest form. 


WHEN he had seen to this he happened to meet 
Lucas, who told him that Theophrastus was still 
ill and much unsettled in mind, but now had an attack 
altogether different from the last, and would like to see 
him. So Joseph and his two friends paid a visit to his 

They found Theophrastus lying on his bed, and almost 
incessantly shouting out in a most lamentable voice that 
he was eternally damned. Joseph was astounded at what 
he saw and heard, and longed to know the reason of 
it, but said nothing at first Politian and Eugenius 
whispered to each other in the lowest of tones, asking 
what this new distemper could be, and whether he was 
still possessed by the evil spirit. But inaudible as they 
were to any but themselves, the patient, in his exalted 
state of hearing, 1 took in all they said. 

" Pardon me," he cried out, " whoever you are that 
I hear speaking pardon me if I cry out thus, for I feel 
the scourging whip of God upon me. My sins are my 
accusing torturers, and my sins threaten me with what 
is worse than death. Once, when I was lulled to sleep 
in the wretched vanities of the world, I laughed my 
sins to scorn, as trifles of no account ; now they come 
against me in awful guise, and sear my conscience as 
with the piercing of a hot iron. 2 God has put me on 
His rack, and I must needs confess against my will. 
I see Sin in its true form passing before my eyes a 
misshapen monster worse than all the crew of Hell, more 

1 The accurate remark of an expert a i Tim. iv. 2. 


terrifying than any earthly sentence of torture. I would 
rather that my wretched body were shut up within the 
most cruel contrivance that a tyrant could devise, 1 and 
every limb subject to the most excruciating pain, than 
suffer one stroke of Divine vengeance in my soul. I 
seem to see the eyes of the Judge who shall condemn 
me, and they are like unto a flame of fire, 2 and the right 
hand of Omnipotence is hurling Its lightnings on my 

Then Joseph, going near to him, said : " What are these 
strange things I hear? Can it be that you, but a few 
days ago such a miracle of God's grace, and delivered 
from all the power of the great enemy, are now again 
subject to his will? This is a device of the same 
adversary ; why not flee to the Refuge you have tried 
and known ? why not seek help from the same Defender 
as before ? " 

At once he answered : " It is not devils that I dread, 
or thousands of them, but it is the presence of an angry 
Deity that fills me with such awful fear, a Deity too 
who shall wreak His vengeance on me with most just 
cause. Where is it possible to find hope or solace in 
such a case ? Can I undo that which is done ? Can the 
past be ever recalled and blotted out? And without that, 
how can I be saved?" 3 

Then said Joseph : " God's chastising hand may be 
now laid upon you in order that you may acknowledge 
Him more, and turn yourself to implore His mercy. God's 
mercy is boundless, and knows no end, and so its measure 
is greater than any finite sin, and able to cover all." 

And so in turn they argued long, one offering the 
remedy as best he might, the other with perverse despair 
ever rejecting it. 

1 He is thinking of the brazen bull of Phalaris. 

1 Rev. i. 14 ; ii. 18. 

3 This was Spira's awful state, and these were his arguments in the 
book about his case published under the patronage of Calvin, and re- 
printed and read so very frequently in the earlier Reformation days. 
Milton and his friends, both Italian and English, would know it well. 


Lucas now suggested it would be best for them to leave 
the patient while he attended to him for a time, and after 
that they might come in again and help by their prayers. 
Joseph did not wish to miss such an opportunity, and 
said he would adjourn with his friends to the next room 
and wait. Here they had the chance of discussing again 
the dreadful spectacle they had just left. 

" I feel very sure," said Joseph, " that this is the work 
of God's enlightening Spirit. Such marvels are often the 
preludes of God's effectual grace. In darkness we cannot 
see, and we fall asleep ; but the light of day reveals our 
surroundings and warns the greatest sluggard to be up 
and doing. My view is borne out by many a case in 
our own times, as well as in Holy Writ. There is, for 
instance, the plaint of Cain, the first fratricide : it has 
been handed down to us very briefly ; I will expand it 
somewhat in verse. 1 


"Alone, and doomed by God's avenging curse, 
Of guilty parents now the guiltier son, 
What refuge can I seek, where hide my head? 

" While yet unborn, my great ancestral sin, 
To me derived, brought loss of Paradise, 
That garden fair ; and now my own fell deed 
Hath shut me out from Paradise above, 
That fairer goal of God's far greater grace. 
That fellowship, through hope, with all the saints, 
Can never now be mine while time doth last, 
And through all ages must I exiled be. 

"What though I flee? myself I cannot shun. 
O greatest misery ! O vengeance dire ! 
How gladly would I offer up my life 
As equal ransom for my brother's blood ! 

1 Here follow forty-two lines in the metre known as iambic trimeter 
acatalectic. The subject, the metre, and the fine Latinity all point to 
Milton rather than any other contemporary Latin poet of our land. 
In 1639 Milton made a long list of Scriptural dramas and their subjects ; 
the MS. is extant in Trinity College library. Cain, a most likely 
subject, does not appear among them, possibly because Milton had 
already used it in earlier days, as here. 


But no ; I must my own avenger be, 

And still live on an awful living death 

Where saddest thing of all ! nor hope nor end 

Can ever come. O cursed deed ! O mind depraved ! 

That dared to take a life so near akin ; 

This only God can do and still be just. 

When envy reigned in my self-torturing breast, 

And anger dire, how soothing seemed the deed ! 

But now, too late, it comes before mine eyes 

A bloody crime, and in ten thousand ways 

Doth rack with torture my abandoned soul. 
" For I have slain a man. My hand the first 

To rashly ope the appointed gate of death, 

And with one murderous stroke anticipate 

The universal law of all mankind. 

" A brother have I slain ; in him lies dead 

One-half the world of procreated men, 
The better half by far, while I, the worse, 
Am left, sole heir of all the race, to be 
The vile begetter of a fallen world. 

"My sin is greater still, for I have slain 
One holy unto God, a victim pure 
Who now, besprinkled with his own life's blood, 
Is first of mortal men to enter Heaven. 
What paradox is here ! How passing strange, 
That thus at last doth God my offering take, 
The best of victims from the worst of priests ! 
Thus envy ever works ; these be her fruits : 
Her victims rise, and she is more depressed. 

"My very self, too, have I slain, for He 
Who once refused the best I had to give 
Will never pardon grant for broken laws. 
Oh, how God's dreaded vengeance haunts my brain ! 
Must Vengeance Infinite thus strike me down? 
All things took shape beneath His forming hand, 
His nod none dares resist. How can I hope 
By flight to 'scape His ever-following grasp, 
Or bear it when it comes ? And yet these fears 
And other horrors still to me unknown 
Must needs be borne. How oft the sentence dread 
Of my great Judge doth through my marrow pierce, 
Seeming to me the fulness of His wrath, 
Till pain has vanished in a deathlike swoon. 

" But I must work, and till the thorny ground 
In toil alone for me is life and peace ; 
And since I'm driven from fields that once were mine, 
My own right hand shall found some home apart." 


" Now," said Eugenius, " why should we not hear a few 
remarks about the just punishment of sin which God has 
ordained, and which Theophrastus has illustrated by his 
frightful state?" 

" Quite so," said Joseph, " and to proceed in order I 
will first repeat the origin of sin and Adam's fall. I know 
this is held as a sort of fable or allegory by some great 
wits, but I will try and defend it from any such suspicion. 

" First, nothing can be more in accordance with what 
is true than the fact that man was created altogether 
perfect. Fallen Nature proclaims this, and looks back 
with sorrow and desire to a perfect golden age. The 
Divine law hints that man was made in the image and 
likeness of God, and our conscience still retains a likeness 
of our better selves, impaired, if you will, but still there, 
for each of us approves, and often strives to attain unto, 
that higher self that we have lost. God's Book of Truth 
tells us the same, and, what has never entered into the 
mind of any school of philosophers, that book tells by 
what Jaw, and by whose offence, our whole race entered 
in the continual heritage of sin and woe. We know 
that God gave our first parents dominion over all things 
that were on the earth, and placed them in a garden, 
the choicest central spot of all the world the garden of 
the Lord, it might well be called which they were charged 
to dress and keep. Here was one tree conspicuous beyond 
the rest by the beauty of its fruit, but guarded by the 
strictest command that they should not satisfy a base 
desire by eating of or even touching that tree. On 
keeping this one law of God depended the happiness 
of mankind. 

" Now, I ask you to admit that such a law was neither 
unjust nor unworthy of the Divine Majesty. Do not 
kings and nobles often make grants of land to their 
subjects and vassals, with a condition that they should 
pay a peppercorn or a grain of cumin as a token of 
service, and if this be not forthcoming, or be forgotten, 
the grant is null and void. In an exactly similar manner 
the highest law of all depended on a most slight condition. 


" The force and authority of law wholly consists in the 
will and order of the legislator, and has to be accepted 
with implicit faith and the most perfect obedience. And 
so it behoved our first parents to accept with faith this 
prohibitory order, although no reason or fixed law of 
justice gave it sanction, and, indeed, if there had been 
no command given by God concerning the tree, their 
abstaining from it might have been a superstitious and 
wicked act. For a creature of God, as man is, faith is 
the highest virtue, and especially shows itself in the 
least points of the law, and fulfils that imperial mandate, 
'Do this for the glory of God.' 

" Our religion may be summed up as the exercise 
of Christian faith. But the faith of a Christian and the 
faith of Adam must be distinguished. Ours puts away 
self entirely, and, looking to Christ's merits, rests in the 
bosom of His love. But Adam's faith depended on his 
own strength -and his own deed, just as does all other 
obedience in worldly affairs. 

" This precept, too, most clearly shows to us the genuine 
liberty our first parents had in sinning. For the precept 
did not command something to be done which was 
included in the natural wants of the primeval pair, nor 
did it prohibit anything that was foul and abominable. 
But the precept was concerning a matter to which our 
first parents by nature were indifferent or evenly balanced, 
till the Divine command turned the scale. Therefore 
it is that special mention is made of the promulgation 
of this law, and of this alone, all the rest being silently 
inscribed in the tablets of the heart and mind. 1 

1 Milton twice brings this very argument to the front ; once late in 
life, in the De Doctrina Christiana, c. x. : " No works whatever were 
required of Adam ; a particular act only was forbidden. It was 
necessary that something should be forbidden or commanded as a test 
of fidelity, and that an act in its own nature indifferent, in order that 
man's obedience might be thereby manifested. For since it was the 
disposition of man to do what was right, as a being naturally good and 
holy, it was not necessary that he should be bound by the obligation 
of a covenant to perform that to which he was himself inclined ; nor 
would he give any proof of obedience by the performance of works 


" Next follows the attack of the serpent on the woman, 
using a feigned voice, and deceiving her by various 
sophistical arguments. There seems no doubt that this 
serpent was prompted by the evil spirit whom we call 
Satan. That is his name among the sacred writers, and 
that his favourite form in which he would show himself 
to his worshippers afterwards. We read that he was 
a liar and a murderer from the beginning. Even now 
he retains his character, for he tempts us to evil by an 
insinuous, serpent-like procedure, and gains his victory 
over us by the same arts as of old." 

Here Politian interposed a question. " Why therefore 
is it so pointedly said that the serpent was more subtle 
than any beast of the field, and why was the punish- 
ment laid upon the serpent, without any mention of the 
devil who spake through it ? And why did not the 
devil, if he really were the principal actor, quietly and 
insensibly exert his pernicious influence on the mind, 
and, in that palmary deceit of his, attack the easier 
entrance, as he does now ? " 

" Perhaps," said Eugenius, " that is the real sense of 
the Scripture phrase, ' the serpent was more subtle than 
any beast which God had made' i.e. that the cunning 
was not that of beast, but different in kind and degree." 

" I will not argue the point," said Joseph. " I have 
no doubt something strange and beyond the usual was 
portended, and the serpent was the symbol of it. There 
is -no mention of the Evil One, either because it is clear 
on the face of the narrative that the enemy of the human 
race is meant, or, it may be, because the angels had 
been mentioned, but not the fallen ones, and Scripture 
does not pander to itching or curious ears, but, for the 

to which he was led by a natural impulse, independently of the Divine 
command (Bohn's ed., iv. 221.) And once in 1645 in his Tetrachordon, 
iii. 336 : " Were it [the precept] merely natural, why was it here 
ordained more than the rest of moral law to man in his original 
rectitude, in whose breast all that was natural or moral was engraven 
without external constitutions and edicts ? " Clearly a favourite 
Miltonic argument this, and exactly reproduced above. 


deep reasons of God, enlightens us about some things, 
but passes over others, leaving them in silence and 

" Next let us see by what inducements our first parents 
were led to so great a sin. Those authors are very wide 
of the mark who say that fleshly appetite l was the primary 
cause of the Fall. There is an inducement of far greater 
power than this, which seizes the whole man, body and 
soul, 2 an inducement which fills the mind almost to 
the exclusion of all else I mean the desire to be as one 
of the immortal gods. Not the temptation of the most 
exquisite pleasures, not the offer of the greatest riches, 
-not the glory of earthly empire could have made our 
first ancestors barter away their happiness, or could have 
robbed them of their primitive goodness. But the hope 
of a higher fortune, the ambition of being supreme, had 
filled their mighty minds with huge desire. Then it 
was that the greatest of all deceivers mocked them with 
the false and glittering illusion that they should be as 
gods, and that the way to obtain their wish was through 
the mystic fruit of the forbidden tree. 3 Now was the 
die to be cast for the happiness or misery of the human 
race ; here was to be the speedy end of so great happiness 
only just begun, and here the fount of all our woe, for 
that dread precept, a pledge and sign of total obedience, 
included in itself all things forbidden. 4 

Here Politian queried thus : " But how is it that we 

1 Gu/a in the original, meaning, first of all, gluttony. 

2 Universus homo is used, pointing to the indivisible union of body 
and soul. 

3 This is the Miltonic view in Paradise Lost, ix. 700-800, etc. 

4 " If the circumstances of this crime are duly considered, it will 
be acknowledged to have been a most heinous offence and a transgres- 
sion of the whole law. For what sin can be named which was not 
included in this one act ?" (Milton, De Doctrina Christiana, xi. 254). 

At the above reference Milton gives a long list of the sins included. 
Du Bartas, Milton's favourite author in early years, gives a similar list, 
and we have in Paradise Lost, x. 14-16 : 

They not obeying 

Incurr'd (what could they less?) the penalty, 
And, manifold in sin, deserv'd to fall. 


suffer for the sins of our fathers ? Is it right in law or 
in equity, especially when God distinctly declares He 
will not visit the sins of the father on the son ? " 

Joseph's reply was : "Just as the primeval command 
' Thou shalt not eat of it ' is the prime model of all 
succeeding commands, and stands in their place, so our 
first parents stood in our place, and it was our weak- 
ness that was tried in that first unique temptation. 
Moreover, it seems very probable that had they obeyed, 
not one of their descendants would have run the slightest 
risk, nor would the crimes of any of their posterity, nor 
any other sins of Adam himself, have been handed 
down from father to son ; and this seems one reason 
why it is described as the tree of knowledge of good 
and evil, because our first parents had this one, and 
only one, opportunity for obtaining the knowledge of 
evil, and therefore the tree of life was near, that from 
this second mystical tree, connected as poison and anti- 
dote, 1 was to come by sacramental sign the knowledge 
of good that is, of life and salvation. Hence that ironical 
reproach, ' Behold the man is become as one of us, endued 
with the knowledge of good and evil.' This alluded to 
that vainest of all collusive sophisms, ' Ye shall be as 
gods,' which that old Deceiver so artfully concocted out 
of the mystic name of the tree and our first parents' 
desire for forbidden knowledge. In fine, God, in order 
that He may withdraw from us the very hope and appear- 
ance of salvation, expels us from Paradise, thus excommuni- 
cating us from the visible pledge of life therein set forth. 

" Both Adam and Eve were in the transgression not 
Adam only, or Eve only, but both and hence all who 
descend from them share their guilt. And that is why 
Christ was not born according to the ordinary law of 
generation, in order that He might be free from its 
original and inherited taint. 2 That He took His human 

1 Cf. Paradise Lost, iv. 220 : 

The Tree of Knowledge grew fast by 
Knowledge of good, bought dear by knowing ill. 

2 Milton, De Doctrina Christiana, p. 261. 


nature only from the woman, who led the way to the 
Fall, is no real stumbling-block, for it was not the sin 
of Adam alone, or Eve alone, that passed to the children, 
but their joint sin." 

(The next question of Politian was that old moral 
paradox : "Why do we so often see the just man struggling 
with adversity, and the wicked flourishing like a green 
bay tree ? " Joseph's answer virtually is that we pre- 
sumptuously limit God's infinite justice by our own ideas 
of justice and injustice in this finite world ; that we only 
now see and know in part, but on that last Great Day all 
the things that now seem so strangely confused and with- 
out a plan will then come before us as the perfection 
of order and justice. As the first chaos was changed 
into the wonderful and perfect machine of the planetary 
system, so this second moral chaos, with its startling 
anomalies, will, on that day of the revealing of secrets, be 
seen by all to be no longer a moral chaos but the perfect 
order of Divine Providence. This is enforced by the 
following simile.) 

"The builder who has planned in his own mind the 
scheme of a noble mansion, first gets together a wealth 
of material marble, brick, wood, iron, and such like and 
all these he cuts and hews and shapes in various forms ; 
and although all are fitted most carefully for their purpose 
and end, yet they lie scattered here and there in his 
workshop in such a way that the mere chance spectator, 
observing in them no order, no adjustment, and certainly 
nothing perfect, would gaze in curious wonder, and many 
conjectures might come into his mind, no doubt, but he 
would least of all be likely to guess the plan while its 
component parts were in such confusion foundation 
stones lying on the top of one heap, perhaps, and cornices 
and headstones at the bottom of another, and stones 
meant to be fitted together lying perhaps as far apart 
as possible. But when all is duly prepared, let the 
master builder come upon the scene, and with finishing 
hand arrange the whole, and fashion them into his plan 
of a most noble building. Oh, what a change is that! 


Such a transformation and completion, but infinitely 
greater, will be seen when the end of all things has come. 
All men will go to their own place, and some, men 
will be very far apart from others, even as there is a 
terrible difference between good and bad angels. Though 
closely alike in their bodily nature, and issuing from the 
same stock, we know that some are raised to the highest 
bliss, and others (oh, the horror of it !) plunged into the 
abyss of awful misery, by the just judgment of God, 
according to their deserts. As with the angels, so will 
it be with us men in the world to come. But now indeed 
we are suspended, 1 as it were, in a half-way house between 
the joys of Heaven and the pains of Hell, for there is no 
perfect bliss or utter woe here on earth. 

"It behoves us to believe that these punishments, in 
full satisfaction of God's vengeance, and determined upon 
from the foundation of the world, are the fiercest which 
God can give and our nature endure. For whoever hates 
another wishes that one to be most utterly wretched ; and 
although death came by sin, the penalty of sin shuts out 
death, or rather delays it for ever and ever nay, the death 
of the body is only therefore a contingent cause by which 
we pass to an eternity of existence." 

Here Eugenius mentioned an idea that had suggested 
itself to his mind viz. that the elementary powers of 
Nature would be turned to act against the damned after 
the Judgment. Before the Fall these powers all acted 
harmoniously to produce pleasure to the physical frame 
of man, and now in our half-way house they sometimes 
produce pleasure and sometimes pain. " May not, I say, 
these powers or properties of Nature eventually become 
so active for pain alone that here we may look for both 
the inward and outward scourges of God's condemning 
justice inwardly a much greater complication of all the 
pains and diseases that flesh is heir to, and outwardly 
the terrible aspect of nature as a bitter and implacable foe ? 

1 The Latin is noticeable pendemus. The little central circle of 
earth hangs drop-like between the Empyrean above and Hell beneath. 
This was Milton's cosmography. 


It would be equitable, too, for wherein a man sins, 
thence should the requital come. One of God's punish- 
ments that our first parents suffered was that the earth, 
given to them as their possession, should bring forth thorns 
and thistles of itself, instead of serviceable fruit ; and why 
should not this law of God be further extended after the 
Judgment? Scripture, too, suggests such a Divine punish- 
ment then, for we read that a new heaven should be 
created and a new earth, wherein dwelleth justice." 

To this Joseph made answer : " Many are the curious 
conjectures of the learned on this matter ; enough for us 
to know that the future state of the dead is not opened to 
our sight, our hearing, or our mental grasp, but that for 
the lost souls it must be unspeakably intolerable, and 
worse than our most vivid imagination can depict. They 
have not only sinned against Nature, but against their 
Creator Himself, who knows perfectly the whole frame 
of man, and is able to crush the bones and rack the 
nerves, and make every sense and feeling fail in terror 
before Him, and so to overwhelm the guilty in other ways 
beyond our ken, inexpressible in our words or thoughts. 
As the body shared in the offence, so no doubt it will 
bear its share in the penalty. But the mind was the prime 
mover in this war against God, and will be the prime 
sufferer. Here we must look for that worm that dieth 
not ; here in our conscience are we the prey of the vulture 
and the eagle, symbols of a torture we cannot understand. 

" Think how awful it must be, ever to have the foulest 
objects before our eyes, ever to be distracted by fear, 
overwhelmed in anguish, covered with shame, burnt up 
with impotent desire, plagued with envy, and excruciated 
by the exceeding bitter thoughts of all our folly. Think 
what it is for that very mind of man which is able to 
withstand so many infirmities of the body, and to endure 
with placid joy the most cruel injuries of earthly tyrants, 
to be absolutely crushed and subdued before an angry 
Creator, and made its own torturer and executioner. 
Each shall suffer according to his own deserts. Cruelty 
shall claim the Pharaohs as her victims, while the Caesars 


shall burst with pride ; Sardanapalus shall be dissolved 
in enervating vice, and Cato shall be mocked by false 
appearances of justice. But they who have undermined 
true religion by means of superstition or guile shall fare 
the worst of all. Consider, in addition, the terrible aspect 
of the offended and avenging Judge. 

"In our present life, while God spares and seems not 
to notice, there are many who carry themselves in haughty 
self-security all their days ; but on that day the most 
powerful kings and rulers, possessed by abject fear and 
dread, will ask the mountains and rocks to hide them 
from the sight of the wrath of God and of the Lamb. 

" To have the everlasting fires of Hell and their lurid 
glare ever awaiting us beyond the tomb is the very acme 
of mental torture ; no penalty we know of can compare 
with that. 

" Nor does this exhaust the woes of Hell ; there will 
be the knowledge there of the incomparable bliss of the 
saints in Heaven, raising the keenest pangs of envy, 
especially in those lost ones who so narrowly missed the 
great offer. There too will be many of the proud ones 
of the earth, once too self-sufficient to admit master or 
equal, now spurned by the vilest of their race, and thus, 
to their shame and confusion, what they have meted to 
others is measured to them again. 

" And in the bottomless abyss of misery there cannot 
possibly be any substratum of hope. That one awful 
word, Eternity, robs the mind of its last consolation. For 
consider what it means : you could not read its measure 
if you took the whole period of the earth's existence, 
calculated the number of minutes it contained, and then 
successively doubled that period as many times as it had 
minutes, and if you then divided the whole material world 
into its smallest ultimate atoms, and multiplied each atom 
by your last enormous result, you would be no nearer 
its measure or farther from its beginning, for it is ever 
beginning and never ending. 

" Neither can any moral qualities of goodness and justice 
in a man excuse him from the allotted penalty, or claim 


acknowledgment or reward from God, nor can the holiest 
man that ever lived dare to stand his chance of God's 
judgment on even the best act of his life. So we must 
give up all hope of salvation through our own merits 
or deeds." 1 

These grave words closed the discourse, but before they 
parted, Eugenius, asking leave, read Joseph's poetical 
version of God's controversy with Job, 2 as a good illus- 
tration of the great doctrine of Liberty and Necessity. 

1 In this discourse we have the awful doctrine of God's "just wrath" 
on fallen man most vividly placed before us. Its effect is all the greater 
because we know that we have here the conscientious belief of a wise, 
just, and virtuous man, one, too, of so independent a mind that he 
would trust to no doctrine unless reasonably satisfied with its cre- 
dentials. It is one of the saddest parts of the book. We have, most 
of us, wider views of God's love now, and a return to the harshness 
and horror of the old position seems unlikely. A man of great 
influence with our lower-middle classes tried to establish the position 
by his pulpit eloquence, and he has been heard and read by millions 
throughout the world. He would end his sermons somehow thus : 
" The Hell of Hells will be to thee, poor sinner, the thought that it is 
to be for ever and ever. Thou wilt look up there on the throne of 
God, and on it shall be written ' For ever ! ' When the damned jingle 
the burning irons of their torments, they shall say, ' For ever ! ' When 
they howl, echo cries, ' For ever ! ' " etc. This was C. H. Spurgeon 
in 1855, and he declared that he never changed his opinions. Milton 
and Spurgeon were both of one mind in their Dantesque conceptions 
of Hell. 

* Job xl. 6 xlL 12. 


AFTER this the physician Lucas joined them, and said 
they could now come and see his patient, who, 
although no better in his bodily health, gave signs of a 
much better mental state. " Come to him," said he, " and 
by your prayers help to raise him again to life and hope 
He has had a terrible conflict with his great enemy, and 
all the while he could take no nourishment, not even the 
lightest soups ; but now some faint rays of hope are be- 
ginning to dispel his darkness, and we may help the 
good work." 

So they followed him, and found many standing around 
the bed and comforting Theophrastus with kind words 
and prayers. He, thinking his end was near, began thus 
to speak to them in a soft, low voice : 

" I am now to embark on the boundless sea of eternity ; 
I am about to leave for ever the sights of earth and sky 
and the companionship of my fellow-men. Whither I go 
I know not ; already I seem entering into an overwhelming 
and everlasting darkness. 1 always knew that death must 
come ; but now, as I am in its very presence, and on the 
threshold of the tomb, I begin to see and acknowledge 
the vanity of the life that is past and the terrors of the 
life to come. Of what avail now is worldly wealth, or 
leisured ease, or all the boast of learning and science? 
Where are my hopes of fancied happiness, and the earthly 
objects of desire that shall never now be mine ? They 
have perished and come to nought, and so shall I close 
in their wake. The greatest plutocrat can leave nothing 
behind him but dust and ashes and a few precious 

VOL. II. 6 S 5 

66 " WHILE WE MAY " [Bk. IV 

stones, or fragments of gold and silver and such-like sports 
of fortune ; but our knowledge and experience, the choicest 
gifts that life bestows, are snatched away once and for 
ever by death, nor are they of any use to us in the other 
world, for it is only men's good deeds that follow them, 
and nought but these can be included in that great life- 
account which is reckoned up for all. If this be so, what 
shall be my lot, wretched man that I am ? I can lay no 
claim to acts of merit or righteousness or piety, and I have 
set before me no hope or trust which is sufficient to save 
me just as I am, naked and bare." He said no more, but 
with one long, deep sigh he seemed to utter all his woe, 
and they that heard him joined their sighs with his. 

But Joseph, thinking a word of exhortation would be 
more fruitful than this unavailing grief, thus addressed 
the dying man : 

" Perchance your time has come to leave the world 
and us, but you can never leave God, who holds you 
and all that you can call your own in His hand un- 
ceasingly. Just consider, if you had been created a grown- 
up man, with matured faculties, and then introduced into 
the world just consider, I say, the little you would have 
understood of its order and meaning ; and yet God had 
prepared the heavens and the earth and all living things 
for your special use. He may now be about to translate 
you to a new world, which has been pictured for you 
somewhat in this life, and perhaps foreshadowed without 
your knowledge. 

" Therefore, while you are alive and have the chance, 
urge your suit with God, lay hold on Him, beseech and 
pray, and that insistently, nothing doubting that when 
your span of mortal life is ended you shall go forth to 
a better state and a better age." 1 

To these words the dying man gave no distinct answer, 
but presently, after a deep reverie, he exclaimed with 
great earnestness : 

" Not yet no, not yet is the die cast for me for all 
eternity ; even now, in the twinkling of an eye, can that 
1 In meliora secula. 


be gained which in all the ages that are to come can 
never be given. Neither in life while it lasts, nor in 
death when it comes, will I cease to look up ever and 
again to God's countenance of infinite pity no, not even 
if I feel myself slipping into the gulf of Hell. 

" Oh ! stay oh ! stay Thy hand awhile till I taste 
somewhat of Thy lovingkindness, so that when I cross 
the harbour bar 1 I may sail forth into the unknown sea, 
encouraged and strengthened in my trust in Thee ! " 

This he said so that all could hear, and then for some 
time his lips moved in silent prayer. 

All the bystanders rejoiced at these signs of increasing 
faith, and said he had chosen the right course, and ought 
never to give up for a moment his most excellent deter- 
mination. To help in this, they all betake themselves 
to pray. Meanwhile, though the breath of life was 
evidently failing by degrees, Theophrastus lay placidly 
on his deathbed with eyes uplifted to God's throne ; 
and soon it came to pass, while yet the prayers were 
rising in God's sight, that with one deep sigh his spirit 
left the tabernacle of his body, and exchanged this present 
world for heaven. 2 

1 Lat. e portu decedens. 

3 I suppose this was written before the author embraced the opinion 
that the whole man (uuiversus homo), body and soul, sleeps until the 
Resurrection, and was left unrevised or unnoticed. 



IT was the evening of that day when Philippina's body 
had been carefully placed in its leaden coffin that 
Joseph, on leaving the hospice, asked the two Sicilian 
emissaries to dine at home with him. He also asked 
them to bring Philippina's own maid, who had been her 
only confidante, and who for that cause had been sent 
from Sicily with them as a guide. When they arrived at 
Jacob's house, the old man, while dinner was preparing, 
and they were all naturally talking of the young girl, 
wished them to tell him the whole history, as Joseph was 
opportunely absent. He added that all he knew was a 
disjointed summary which he had heard from Joseph, 
without Philippina's name being mentioned. They said 
they really knew very little of the true history of it, except 
what they had gathered from Galatea, the maid, and her 
information was offered very reluctantly, but they thought 
she could tell much more if she would. When Galatea 
found she was pressed by all, she consented to relate 
all the circumstances unreservedly, the more so as she 
was now released from the bond of trust which had 
prevented her from speaking out while her mistress was 
alive. The girl had a ready tongue enough, but was 
somewhat bashful at first ; her tears, too, naturally began 

6 9 


to flow when she thus addressed, by way of preface, her 
she had so lately served and lost: 

" I ask thy pardon, O my mistress, for all I am about 
to say of thee. Thou hast nought to do now with the 
gossip of this lower world, for either thou art utterly 
unconscious of it, or else, having entered into the glorious 
and eternal liberty of the children of God, thou canst 
safely treat such things with scorn and derision." 

Then, turning to Jacob, she began her tale. 

"Philippina was the daughter of Sebastian, Duke of 
Palermo, a man of great wealth and authority, wanting 
in nothing that pertained to good fortune save that he 
had no son to hand down to posterity his name and 
family. This misfortune had its nearest possible com- 
pensation in his only daughter, a girl of remarkable beauty 
and talent, and in every way surpassing even a father's high 
ideal. No wonder her parents doted on her, and when she 
lost her mother her father's love increased. He married 
again, but there were no children, and so Philippina was 
his last surviving hope, the solace of his old age. He had 
intended her to make a brilliant match, and indeed there 
was no prince or noble who did not aspire to her affections. 

"It fell out one day that her father took us from 
Palermo to accompany him in a hunting expedition into 
the country, for he enjoyed no pleasure fully unless his 
daughter was with him. During a stag-hunt on one 
occasion Philippina had dropped somewhat behind the 
rest, and while urging her horse into a gallop, either from 
its freshness or from an extra touch of the spur, it ran 
away with her, and brought its fair rider into great danger 
by rushing headlong under the boughs of a huge oak, as 
a short cut to where the hounds were heard in pursuit. 
We, as her attendants, were with her, but were not so 
well mounted, and could not follow such a sudden flight 
at once. I, however, was the first to nearly reach her, 
when, thinking more of her safety than my own, I was 
thrown headlong by a stumble over some rising ground. 
There were many following the hounds on foot, for the 
meets were much frequented ; some of these pedestrians , 


hearing our cries, came eagerly to help us. There was 
one amongst them whose eagerness and speed surpassed 
all the others : it was your son, as we now know. He 
fortunately came up and seized the reins just as my 
mistress was being dashed against the oak. She was 
much terrified at what seemed instant death, and, em- 
boldened by her fear, she prepared to leap from her horse. 
He quickly noticed the action, and at once caught her 
in his arms. She was trembling, and panting for breath, 
could neither hold herself up nor yet speak ; her limbs 
refused their office, and she would have fallen to the 
ground had not Joseph gently supported her, and, sitting 
down on a hillock, held up the beauteous girl in his arms. 
Presently she recovered herself somewhat, and noticing 
her embarrassing position, her cheeks were quickly mantled 
with a glowing blush which failed not to be reflected on 
the face of her youthful protector. Her veil had fallen 
off in her rapid flight, and so they lay gazing into each 
other's eyes. But it was only for a moment, for her 
maids came up almost at once, and then they both rose 
from the ground together. She at once addressed the 
new-comers with this remark : ' I often wonder how a 
reasonable being can trust to the uncertain temper of 
a horse. I certainly should have been killed, had it not 
been for this timely assistance ; sometimes we that are 
well born must needs ask the help of those beneath us : 
but it is a pity that you were not here sooner, for then 
there would have been no occasion for your mistress to 
faint in the arms of a strange man ; however, necessity 
abrogates the laws of modesty.' 

" Then, noticing me still lying on the ground after my 
serious fall in a spot whence I had observed all that 
passed, she said jokingly : ' My maid there, when she could 
not catch me up, gave me an example in jumping off 
her horse ; but I must yield her the palm for modesty 
for she preferred her mother's bosom, while I leaped into 
a young man's arms.' l 

1 Not a bad humorous quip for Milton, who in these matters had 
certainly only the use of his left hand. 


" We were all glad to find her fright so readily turned 
into gaiety, and one of her attendants was at once de- 
spatched for the carriage, which was not far off, to convey 
the young mistress home. 

" While we were thus talking, the hero of the event 
had withdrawn without our noticing it, but my mistress, 
roused by feelings of gratitude, sent me after him to ask 
his name, and to beg him not to take his departure so 
soon. This message brought him back at once, when 
my mistress thus addressed him : ' My good friend, you 
are a stranger to me, but you certainly came forward 
at a most fortunate moment and saved me from a great 
danger. You have my heartiest thanks, and along with 
them pray accept the horse as a present from me. A 
runaway horse may seem rather a vanishing object x for 
me to offer you, but I will take care on my return home 
that you receive some more substantial reward, as you 
well deserve.' 

" ' Whatever share,' he answered, ' I may have had in 
your fortunate escape has been a supreme pleasure to me. 
My own sense of joy when you were free from danger 
was perhaps more vivid than your own. Commendation 
or reward entered not into my thoughts : it was the simple 
natural impulse of my feelings that prompted me to come 
forward at the critical moment ; but now I may the rather 
be permitted to congratulate myself that, under God, I 
have been of service to a lady of such rank and good 
fame.' This was said with such elegance of manner that 
it was quite plain that he was no country boor or farmer, 
but indeed of nothing less than of gentle birth. His dress, 
too, was better than was usual for a wayfaring man, the 
style rather betokening a foreigner of good position. 

"All this made my mistress begin to think she was 
mistaken in offering a reward to such a man, and so, to put 
herself right as far as possible, she begged him to accept 
the horse purely as a mark of her favour. When he had 
taken his leave of them, all began to speak in his praise : 
some liked his active manliness and strength, others 
1 Quip No. 2. 


praised his good looks, others noticed his unaffected 
manners, so genuine and free from swagger. Philippina 
said not a word, though in her heart she agreed with 
each and all. No praise of him could be too high for her. 
For why? The dart of Love had pierced the maiden's 
heart. But to us, as we talked on, there was no thought 
of that. 

" While we were standing round her thus, her carriage 
drove up quickly, and from it jumped her father, excited 
and breathless, accompanied by several attendants. Al- 
though he found his daughter safe and sound, that did 
not prevent him rating every one all round for their want 
of sufficient precaution, but especially was he angry with 
those attendants who left their posts in the excitement 
of the chase. At this moment those very attendants were 
leading back the runaway horse, which had been straying 
about at its own will, and had been caught through getting 
entangled in the thick underwood. My mistress took 
their part in a quiet, kindly manner, saying she had given 
them leave, and besides that, no possible care could have 
prevented the accident ; that it was rather a pleasure to 
have one's life saved, if even by a stranger ; and that really 
all she had lost was the horse, which she had given as 
a present to her preserver. 

" Sebastian, her father, glancing round the throng, asked 
where the young man was, and when he was told that he 
had gone away, he at once gave orders to have enquiries 
made for him in the city, with a view to receiving the 
horse and whatever else his daughter might wish to add 
to it. Hereupon they both took their places in the 
carriage, and started for the city, the hunt having thus 
come to an end for the day. 

" On that self-same night Philippina came to my 
chamber unobserved, and began to question me with evi- 
dent interest as to the name and rank of her unknown 
preserver, as she called him. I replied that, to judge by 
his dress, he was of Jewish race, and that he lodged in 
the house of a very celebrated painter not far from the 
palace^ She still kept on talking of him and how to 


him she owed her life, and went on praising him, as I 
thought, even in excess of his merits, great as they really 

" ' Oh ! Galatea,' she said, ' my thoughts and feelings 
have been stirred up lately as they never were before. I 
am ashamed to admit this, but I cannot deny it or conceal 
it from you ; if you could but have seen the ardour with 
which he rushed to my rescue, his resource and dexterity 
in providing for my safety, watching his chance to seize 
the reins if I held on ; and at the critical moment, as if 
he were conscious of my purpose, how he opened his 
arms to catch me as I fell, and to hold me up in a most 
tender embrace ; if you had seen his modest bearing 
and more than girlish bashfulness, well, I think you 
would grant me that, overwhelmed as I was by his many 
excellencies, I could not, for very justice, fail to remember 
such a noble specimen of humanity. An ingenuous, manly 
bearing attracts the best natures more effectively than all 
the charms of face or fortune ; it may be that my pre- 
server is not unworthy of greater favours than I have 
yet bestowed who can tell ? Perhaps beneath his mean 
apparel he tries in vain to conceal that illustrious descent 
which his noble deeds make manifest. Perhaps he has 
heard of my fame in some distant land, and coming 
hither has sought out this occasion of our meeting. But, 
whoever he be, may Heaven grant that he be meet to 
receive and requite the love I bear to him. But until 
I know more of what his rank and prospects are, a truce 
to such thoughts I will not suffer them ; but should my 
surmise prove correct, pardon my boldness in confessing 
that I would gladly welcome his equal suit. Until now 
I have been ever ready to recognise your tried fidelity 
by no scant praise ; if you wish for the full reward of 
your merits, preserve a most sacred silence as to these 
matters, and moreover lend me your help in furthering 
my design. Early to-morrow morning I wish you to 
take to him his reward. All that you can carefully learn, 
either from him or from others, repeat to me when you 
come back.' 


" I stood in mute astonishment while the whole history 
of her passion was poured forth without restraint, wonder- 
ing greatly at the power of Love, which so often takes 
its rise from the most trivial and absurd beginnings, and 
presently, gaining strength, invades with the fiercest flame 
those unguarded ones who have failed to quench the first 
faint sparks. 

" I now began really to pity my youthful mistress, for 
I thought it such madness that she, who until now had 
rejected with scorn suitors even of the highest rank, should 
of a sudden fall desperately in love with an entire stranger, 
and he, too, one who, so far as she knew, had shown no 
passion for her. But such, I suppose, are only the wanton 
wiles of Love and Fate, and the ungoverned impulse of 
woman's nature. 

" However, such a command I must needs obey, for 
if I refused, besides disobliging my mistress, I should 
be most blind to my own interests, for while a faithful 
confidante receives the highest favours and the closest 
friendship of her superiors, the unfaithful one reaps only 
hatred and rage. I also cherished the hope that, by a 
little tact, I could induce my mistress to declare her love 
with prudence, or in some way to abate her passion. 
So I began to praise her for not giving way to the 
assaults of rash and unadvised desire, and not, as many 
weak and foolish women are wont to do, putting love 
before good name and rank. I urged her thus to pro- 
ceed with her design and to rely on my faithful help to 
maintain her dignity in the quest for love, and, if there 
should be failure, to accept the inevitable and withdraw 
willingly from a bootless pursuit. 

" She then gave me a golden bracelet which she had 
brought with her. I was to deliver it to him, and to 
tell him, if I thought well, that she had often worn it, 
and had sent it as an insufficient token of her gratitude 
to her preserver, but one which she wished him to accept 
in addition to the horse, which, richly caparisoned, I 
was to take to him at the same time. 

" Next day I started for the city with the bracelet, having 


the horse led behind me. When I arrived at the house, 
I contrived first to have a few words with the artist about 
his guest, whose praise was now on every one's tongue 
for his recent exploit. I mentioned that the Duke wished 
to reward him, and I also began to enquire of his country 
and rank. 

" ' Oh ! ' replied the artist, ' he is only a very recent 
arrival in the town. He called on me with a view to 
improve himself in the art of painting, and we had long 
talks on the subject ; but really he is already a consum- 
mate artist, and has finished some pictures with me which 
fetch most excellent prices. Later on I discovered that 
while travelling in our parts for pleasure he had been 
robbed of all he possessed by brigands, and, as I con- 
jecture, through want of money, and having no friends 
here or letters of introduction, he determined to try for 
a living in this way. I must say he is very open-handed 
with me, and a great help as well, and although he shows 
many clear signs of gentle birth, his manners are most 

" These preliminary enquiries being settled, he directs 
me where to find Joseph. To him I first give Philippina's 
message at some length, and then proffer to him the 
bracelet she had sent. He seemed quite taken aback 
at such a magnificent present, and gave such forcible, 
yet polite and courtly, reasons for not accepting it, that 
all my inducements seemed likely to fail. At length, 
however, he gave way almost by force of pressure, and 
accepted it graciously, and when I told him that the 
horse which my mistress gave him yesterday had just 
been brought, he, anxious to make some return for so 
great an obligation, took up a painting which he had 
just finished, and held it for me to look at. 

" ' This/ said he, ' if your mistress would care for it, 
I shall be pleased to send her.' 

"It was a portrait of Philippina from the waist upwards 
beautifully finished. It seems his artist host had sketched 
it and given it to Joseph, who had much improved it 
in several little details gained from the happy experience 


of the day before. The picture, too, was so ingeniously 
executed that it appeared at first merely a looking-glass 
depicted in water-colours ; but the intention was that 
Philippina, looking more closely, should seem to see 
her own face as if reflected from the mirror. I much 
commended the ingenious conceit, as certainly an accept- 
able present, so he called the artist's son and asked him 
to go with me and carry it home to my mistress. 

" I found her anxiously expecting me, and to check, 
if possible, the madness of her love, I at once began : 
' Alack-a-day for the wonderful lover you have gained ! 
A painter's apprentice forsooth ! and in return for your 
handsome and valuable presents he sends you well, 
his thanks in paint ! ' 

" At these unexpected words she turned pale and 
trembled with excitement, till I presented her w.'th the 
picture. ' What an odd thing ! What is it ? ' she said, 
turning it about in her hands. ' It would seem to have 
come rather from a maker of mirrors than a painter of 
pictures, and yet I now see I am painted exactly, and 
as naturally as I appear to myself in my own mirror. 
Whatever you may have to say of the artist, surely, to 
my mind, such a work of true art must be a work of true 
love as well. But tell me all you think him to be, so 
that, if he be worthy, I may bestow on him my favour, or, 
if unworthy, do my best to keep him from my thoughts.' 

" Still wishing to turn her from her mad passion for 
him, I put his case in the worst light I could. I told her 
how poor he was, and how humble and undistinguished 
his rank must be, when among all the merchants from 
all parts which throng our city there was not one who 
knew anything about him or his people, or cared to give 
him that trust or security which a man of good antecedents 
can generally obtain. Moreover, although he was certainly 
clever at painting, his work was too good to be that of 
a rich amateur ; no doubt he was brought up to it as 
a livelihood. And to sum up, there was a foolish reserve 
of shyness about him which betokened anything but the 
gallantries of a gay intriguer. 


" Here I missed my mark, for my mistress declared 
that she much preferred a bashful lover, and that he who 
was bold and unrestrained in his suit was in her eyes 
little better than a shameless rake. ' But in any case, 
whatever may result,' she said, ' from your enquiries, 
just now it is incumbent upon me to help in his need him 
who saved my life. I do not wish to overload him with 
presents ; I would rather choose some other plan by 
which he could be pecuniarily helped, and I, at the same 
time, could see more of him, to my own content, and 
to the discovery perhaps, by our greater acquaintance, 
of his real birth and position.' 

" Her hasty resolve was a surprise to me, and I wondered 
much to what it might tend. She soon explained 
thus : ' I wish him to learn from me that the ingenious 
conceit of his picture was much admired,' and that she 
wished to commission him now for a full-length portrait 
of her in due form, for which she would give him sittings 
at her own home. ' Ah,' thought I, ' what schemes can 
Love produce. How readily do Love's victims work out 
their own perdition ! ' 1 But I dared not raise any oppo- 
sition, lest I should be suspected of not having told the 
whole truth about my visit, and therefore was anxious 
to avoid further conference. 

" Philippina, the better to carry out her plan and avoid 
the tongues of scandal-mongers, shows the picture to 
her father, telling him by whom it was presented and 
painted, and without directly expressing the wish that 
was in her mind, yet so adroitly hinted at it, that her 
father urged her to have the full-length portrait done 
as well. Of course she assented, and not long afterwards 
I was sent to bring Joseph to the Duke's palace. 

" My mistress, as if with the idea of looking her best 
for the picture, had put on her choicest apparel, and most 
carefully arranged her other jewels to the best advantage. 
She was without the veil which our maidens usually wear 
before strangers, for, glorying in the spotless beauty of 

1 Surely the author might have admitted the alternative "or salva- 
tion " ; but Milton is naturally a pessimist in love. 


her face, she was not unwilling to challenge the most 
searching glances of the man she loved. Perhaps some 
may wonder that she should be so ready to unveil those 
beauteous charms that had drawn kings to her feet nay, 
almost obtrude them before the gaze of so unknown a 
visitor, and one to all appearances so much beneath her. 
But it generally happens, I think, that those of our sex 
who are gifted with beauty are more under the power 
of love, and more inclined to it, than the rest ; perhaps 
it is because they are admired and courted more, or 
perchance because they feel they ought to be loved, and 
therefore love occupies more of their thoughts than is 
the case with the unattractive. But be that as it may, 
I must proceed to tell you what occurred. 

" First there was a courteous interchange of grateful 
thanks, he extolling the present he had received, and 
she the service he had rendered to her. But when he 
had settled down to his work, and was trying carefully 
to catch the expression of her features, I could not fail 
to see that she was more curiously and eagerly gazing 
upon his face than even he was upon hers. In fact, they 
were both sketching from life he with his artist's brush, 
she with her eyes only. Now and again she questioned 
him of his country, his parents, his manner of life, to all 
which he replied in an unassuming manner, nor did her 
gracious friendliness lead him either to presume or boast 
of himself in any way. I know that all who have a bold 
and salacious disposition are wont to put a wrong con- 
struction on the most innocent gestures, while those who 
are chaste and reserved sometimes rather rashly resent 
a supposed impropriety, or at other times, with more 
prudence, observe it, but take no outward notice. In 
Philippina's case, whatever construction she might put 
upon her artist's behaviour, I, an impartial witness, am 
bound to say that he did nothing to raise her hopes of 
mutual love, and met her evident liking for him in a 
most quiet and proper way. She thought he was perhaps 
a bashful lover, who would rather win her on his merits 
than press his suit, but at the same time flattered herself 


with having noticed clearly some secret signs of his love 
for her, which, hidden from the common gaze, it is the 
peculiar privilege of sympathetic souls to observe and 
cherish. I saw them not ; but still to her uncontrollable 
longing they might seem real, or she might willingly 
thus deceive herself, and so in a manner excuse herself. 

"When the portrait was finished, Philippina added to 
a handsome fee still more handsome praise, seeming 
almost to value her likeness more than her very self. 
When the work was submitted to more general inspection, 
some critics, as so often happens, professed to admire 
the skill of the artist rather than his accurate felicity in 
catching her true expression ; but the general verdict was 
exceptional praise, and the fact of such a work being 
accomplished by a foreigner so increased his local fame 
that he was besieged by a whole army of sitters. How- 
ever, as he had already honourably satisfied all claims 
out of the money gained in the exercise of his art, he 
determined to give it up, and made ready to take his 
departure to his own country, as was afterwards dis- 
covered. His painter host, too, gained considerable 
reputation through his renowned visitor, for it was under- 
stood that he had helped him in his work, and not only 
fame, but money, fell to his share, for some of his visitor's 
sketches idly thrown off being in his possession, he sold 
them along with many others as being all by one hand. 

" While these things were happening, Ludovicus, Duke 
of Parma, came on pretext of paying a visit to Sebastian, 
but really to see the beauty of Philippina, of which he had 
heard the report in his own country, and if she answered 
to his hopes and expectations, he had made up his mind 
to ask for her in marriage. When he had seen her 
distinguished elegance, both of figure and manner, he 
fell at once in love with her, and being an ardent man 
he proceeded to lay his suit before her father. Consent 
was readily given, for her father rejoiced that such a 
promising alliance had been offered to her and her family, 
and signified to her his approval of the match. At first 
she did not dare to show any reluctance, hoping to fashion 


excuses as occasion might serve later on, and so did 
not refuse her suitor ; but after a time he, finding his 
advances not very favourably received, was both annoyed 
and astonished that she should be so perverse in the 
face of her father's wishes and repeated injunctions, and 
came to the conclusion that he had been forestalled in 
her affections by some preferred rival. He therefore 
approached her father on the subject, and with many 
complaints of the rebuffs his daughter had bestowed upon 
him, he revealed his own suspicions as to the reason. 
The father, of course, was not aware of any such com- 
plication, and was highly grieved that this much-wished- 
for alliance should fail on her account. It was a two-fold 
anxiety, for, first, it overthrew his cherished project, and, 
secondly, he had every reason to believe that she had 
fallen in love with some one of low birth quite unworthy 
of her, and therefore had not dared to be seen with him 
openly, or to declare who he was. Consequently, he 
did not know how to overcome such a compromising 
and dubious difficulty, for unless he knew the clandestine 
lover, he could not break off the connection, and if he 
were discovered, he dreaded that so high and mighty 
a prince would be justly enraged, and take his departure 
with angry feelings against all. He had, however, the 
good luck to be relieved of his anxiety by the following 
chain of events. 

"While Joseph was paying his frequent professional 
visits, Leonora, the stepmother of Philippina, attracted 
by his good looks, conceived an odious passion for him. 
Now, among her maids there was one named Pudentilla, 
her special confidante. To her, when she could contain 
herself no longer, she confessed her wicked love, and 
asked her aid. This was conceded, and the maid went 
so far as to suggest to Joseph this abominable intrigue, 
when she found the suitable opportunity (as is hereafter 
to be related). He, however, steadfastly withstood 
Leonora's advances, although he was careful to spare 
her good name, and to keep her secret to himself. About 
this time Pudentilla happened to notice our frequent 

VOL. II. 6 


private talks together. So, watching her opportunity, she 
listened at a crevice in the wall, and though she heard 
nothing very distinctly, she caught the name of Joseph, 
and, putting her conjectures together, she arrived at the 
discovery of the whole affair. Excited by the secret 
and her cleverness in detecting it, she rushed to her 
mistress, and told her suspicions as if they were certainties, 
the more to curry favour with her, and among other 
exaggerations made out that Joseph was equally to blame. 
Her tale was that he was secretly making love to 
Philippina by my intervention, and therefore it was that 
he rejected her advances, having the hope of a higher 

"Leonora, when she heard this, determined to tell her 
husband all, with the view that Joseph should be kept 
from seeing Philippina, and also that, if her former situation 
should be revealed, she could frame the excuse that he 
had invented the lie out of pure spite to her. Full of 
rage which brooked no delay, she searched out her 
husband, and in apparent deep distress told him every- 
thing in the worst light. Her words were readily believed, 
for they fell on the ears of a prejudiced man enraged at 
the failure of the projected alliance. The Duke Sebastian 
was a clever man of affairs, and so, after praising his wife's 
diligence, he devised a plan which she was to reveal 
to no one. It was this. Joseph, being an unknown 
foreigner, could easily be sent out of the country, and 
a report spread that he had left of his own accord, and, 
the great obstacle being thus removed, he thought his 
daughter would readily listen to his wish ; but the Duke 
of Parma and his own daughter must naturally be kept 
in perfect ignorance of his scheme, lest the Duke should 
give up the marriage in disgust at such a low intrigue, or 
the passion of the love-sick maiden be still further inflamed 
by opposition. Sebastian sent therefore and called to 
him his secretary Polydorus, the most faithful of all his 
ministers, and unfolded to him his designs, ordering him 
to invite Joseph to meet him in a suitable spot, where 
he could arrest him as a prisoner, and carry him off 


to some place of hiding, with a view to detain him in 
perfect secrecy until further notice. The secretary, 
without delay, proceeded to action. He invited Joseph 
to supper in the upper part of a house which had been 
duly prepared to receive him, and when supper was ended, 
he made an excuse for suddenly leaving with his party, 
and, having bolted the doors on their exit, Joseph was 
left behind, a solitary prisoner. There were altogether 
three who were privy to this secret, the chief of them 
being an Ethiopian of tried fidelity, to whom the business 
was committed. 

" Joseph speedily found out that he was entrapped, and 
began first to try all the doors, and then to rap loudly 
and cry for help ; but there seemed none to hear. When 
his first feelings of indignation had calmed down some- 
what, he betook himself to the window, and then it was 
that the Ethiopian, half opening the door, while the other 
two kept guard outside, let himself in and advanced 
towards his prisoner. Joseph had no weapon, for before 
supper he had taken off his sword and laid it aside, and 
it had been carried away purposely, so when he saw the 
Ethiopian coming on, he supposed death to be imminent, 
and this man the executioner. Nevertheless, he first thus 
addressed him in bold and noble words : ' Is it the custom 
of this country thus to sup with murderers, or thus to 
imprison the innocent? Tell me, prithee, what I have 
done, and what is or shall be the fate in store for me ; 
or, rather, fetch your master to give me an account for 
such treatment' 

" He replied in a respectful tone that he was but follow- 
ing his master's orders, and begged his prisoner not to 
be angry with him, for he had no ill-feeling towards him ; 
and as for the reasons, it was not his part to question 
them, but rather to carry out his instructions, which were 
as follows : His master bid him say that he humbly 
apologised for his great breach of faith, and besought 
him not to try and fathom the cause of it, but to consider 
himself not in a prison, but in a hostelry, where all his 
wants would be supplied, liberty of exit only excepted, 


and even that in a short time would be granted, with due 
reward and compensation. 

" These words of the jailor had a soothing effect on 
Joseph, whose first ardent impulse was to get free or die 
in the attempt. A calmer view of the situation now 
possessed him ; he thought it best to yield to the inevitable, 
and to await the issue hopefully, accepting frankly the 
good offices of his keepers. A well-ordered bed had been 
prepared ; this the Ethiopian kindly showed him, and 
bade him good-night. 

"In the city the rumour had been spread that Joseph 
had secretly left the country, taking ship by night, As 
soon as I heard this, and found it confirmed, I betook 
myself to Philippina, so as not to miss this grand oppor- 
tunity of breaking the love-spell that held her, by showing 
how it was neglected and spurned. Finding her, as it 
happened, alone in her bed-chamber, I at once cried out : 
' O my mistress, that nonesuch lover of yours has given us 
the slip ; he has fled away in the night, and taken your 
presents with him, without even coming to say farewell, so 
sly has he showed himself.' 

"At first my mistress seemed almost dazed when she 
heard it, and could not believe it possible ; but the evidence 
was too clear to deny, and as she listened to my reproach- 
ful speeches against the man she loved, she was deeply 
stirred at heart. ' It cannot be so,' she exclaimed ; ' I am 
sure he has been expelled or banished, or killed by some 
one's cruel plot : perhaps you yourself had a hand in it, 
or the Duke of Parma.' 

" All this and more was said in a broken way between 
her sobs and groans. Presently she became quiet, and 
pretended to be more resigned ; but from the time of that 
scene she was much more reserved with me, and no longer 
admitted me to her confidences. Shortly afterwards her 
father sent Pudentilla to see her, and to mention Joseph's 
flight in a natural and casual way, and when he heard that 
she had received the news with an unmoved countenance, 
he presently paid her a personal visit, and began to press 
again the suit of his noble friend. 


" To his surprise, she seemed as much averse to it as 
ever, and earnestly begged her father to give up the 
thought that a maiden's love could be compelled, for that 
was hopeless. What could be compelled was the marriage, 
and that was so odious to her that she prayed him not 
to force her to compliance. The Duke was utterly 
distasteful to her that was all ; so at least she led him 
to infer. Moreover, she voluntarily added that she knew 
no lover, and that should one present himself, she would 
never marry without asking his advice. 

"This reply made her father anxious and thoughtful, 
and he left her hardly knowing what to do or what view 
to take. He kept reproaching himself for being so 
indulgent in days gone by, and allowing her to get 
used to having her own way, so that now, when it was 
all-important that she should yield, she resisted. How- 
ever, he finally decided to see the Duke of Parma, and 
explain as favourably as he could the state of affairs, 
when it was arranged amicably that the Duke should give 
up the lady. In fact, her treatment of him, and the 
accompanying disgrace, had made his love die away of its 
own accord ; so he agreed to return home readily enough. 

" Meanwhile, the Ethiopian guard treated Joseph with 
every consideration, and it was their habit to while away 
the sad and lonely hours with friendly talk. The strict 
custody thus began rather to relax, and there seemed a 
possible chance even of escape, if occasion served. One 
day, however, the Ethiopian was attacked by a sudden 
and strange epileptic fit, and fell dead at Joseph's feet 
Joseph's first thought, after realising the astounding fact, 
was one of fear least suspicion should be attached to 
himself, and he therefore determined to make his escape 
at once. The plan he conceived was the following. He 
placed the corpse in the bed, having first stripped it and 
dressed it up in his own clothes. He then arrayed him- 
self in his jailor's garments, blacked his hands and face 
with soot from the chimney, and, going to the door, gave 
it a rap with his knuckles, 1 just as the Ethiopian's custom 
1 Condylo, a rare word used only by Mart. Capella. 


was when he wished to go out. The watchmen took 
it to be their comrade's sign, and opened at once without 
paying much heed, and, being rather dark at the time, 
and Joseph's black face not being very noticeable, 
he passed by them without suspicion or hindrance, 
although he was prepared to use force if they had stopped 
him. He descended the stairs and came to the principal 
entrance, which he found securely locked, and to all 
appearance the house seemed uninhabited, for, as a matter 
of fact, Polydorus did not live there, but had hired the 
house for his plot. So, as he could find no other way 
of escape, he was about to get through a window, when, 
looking out, he saw Polydorus, and a man with him, 
coming to the house. They had been sent by the Duke 
to get information about Philippina's action in the matter, 
for nothing clear was able to be gathered from her or 
from me. 

" On this he determined offhand to meet them boldly 
as they entered, and when they had unlocked the door 
and pushed it partly open, he rushed forcibly past them 
while quite off their guard, and fled away. Polydorus, 
startled and amazed, ordered his companion to run after 
the fugitive, while he himself went indoors and ascended 
the stairs in search of the keepers. He was panting with 
excitement and want of breath ; at length, however, he 
called out angrily : ' Where is that villain, that hell- 
begotten Ethiopian ? Where has he gone ? ' The two 
jailors were much alarmed at the commotion, and at such 
an unexpected query, but they managed to reply that he 
had only just that moment gone downstairs. 

" ' What ? ' replied he, ' has he also deceived you, or, 
rather, are you not all of you deceiving me ? No doubt 
he has let Joseph escape, and, fearing my vengeance, has 
run off at seeing me. Why do you stand there like 
fools? Break open the door, that I may find out the 

"No sooner said than done, and all rushed in with 
anxious, trembling haste. Polydorus, on the first look into 
the room, was almost ready to faint with fear, for there was 


no one to be seen it seemed quite deserted. However, 
there was a sudden shout from one of the attendants : 
' All is right ! Joseph is in bed there are the clothes 
he has taken off.' 

"So they quickly ran to the bed, and withdrew the 
curtain to look. The black face they saw made them 
fall back in terror. ' What gruesome farce is this ? ' they 
exclaim. ' Here are two Ethiopians, and Joseph nowhere ; 
the sham one has fled, the real one is left behind.' So 
they tried to rouse him, and to get at the truth of it all, 
but he seemed to heed neither their shouts nor their blows. 
They even went so far as to pull him from under the bed- 
coverings, and then they discovered it to be a corpse they 
were handling. A general wail burst forth, and all agreed 
that Joseph must have smothered him with a pillow, 
borrowed his clothes, and apparently his skin as well, and 
then slipped away. Polydorus went almost mad with 
vexation and rage, blaming everybody, himself included. 
What would the Duke say? How could he face him, 
or how excuse himself? 

" Meanwhile, the companion of Polydorus was pressing 
on after the fugitive, calling out for the assistance of the 
people as he ran along, who, indeed, of their own accord 
had noticed the hurried flight of the pursued and the 
singular blackness of his face. So he was easily caught, 
and required to explain why he was running away. The 
first suggestion was that he had committed some theft ; 
but there being nothing to prove it, it was settled to take 
him back to Polydorus. 

" Now, Polydorus, as soon as he found that Joseph 
was really gone, saw that his only hope was to catch 
him up at once, and so rushed forth from the house 
with all speed. Hearing from the shouts of the crowd 
that Joseph was caught, he went up to them, and under 
the pretence of taking back his runaway slave, he thanked 
them heartily for their exertions, and with unabashed 
countenance asked them to deliver the slave to his lawful 
master. Forthwith Polydorus and his companion seized 
Joseph by the shoulders, one on each side, and began 


to forcibly hustle him in the direction of the house he 
had just left, for they hoped by this summary exercise 
of authority, and by aid of the general confusion, to 
get him back without his being further recognised. 

" Joseph kept protesting that he was no slave ; but as 
that availed nothing, he presently bared his arm, which, 
with its blue veins and snowy whiteness, sufficiently 
refuted the calumny, and inclined the crowd somewhat 
in his favour. But Polydorus would not give way, con- 
stantly repeating that if he was not a slave, anyhow he 
was an impostor who had broken into his house in that 
guise ; ' and therefore/ said he, ' I want to take him back 
there, so that I may know for certain what game he has 
been carrying on.' This seemed reasonable enough ; so 
Joseph was dragged to the entrance-hall of the house, 
where they made great show of searching him as a 
suspected thief, he all the while crying out that he was 
Joseph, who had been entrapped by Polydorus, and kept 
for a long time a prisoner by a trick, and that if he 
had tried to escape by a trick, it was, at most, but a 
quid pro quo. 

"Presently Polydorus, with his attendants, rushed into 
the hall from the outer part of the house, pretending 
to be much put out by what he had just discovered. 
' Woe to me this day ! ' said he. ' Your worthy prisoner 
has done worse deeds than I ever suspected ; I was 
thinking he might be a thief, but now I find he is a 
murderer. My Ethiopian servant is the victim, smothered 
and left dead in his bed, while he makes his escape dis- 
guised under the appearance and clothes of the murdered 
man. Go up and behold the crime only just committed, 
for the body is not yet either stiff or cold.' 

"The charge of murder, and the natural horror it 
produced, was enough to make all turn with feelings of 
vengeance against Joseph, and their excited exclamations 
gave him no chance of defending himself. They at once 
set light to a lamp and dragged him to the bed-chamber, 
to be confronted with the corpse in their presence. 

"While these were thus trying to obtain a confession 


or proof 1 of guilt, Polydorus sends one of the two door- 
keepers to inform the Duke how matters stood. But 
both the guards had vanished, and taken Joseph's clothes 
with them, for besides their intrinsic value, they happened 
to feel some money which Joseph had forgotten to transfer 
when he made the exchange of dress. Enticed by this 
booty, and dreading their master's anger in any event, 
they had made good their escape under cover of the 
general confusion. Polydorus therefore entrusted his com- 
panion with the charge of the prisoner, and betook himself 
at once to the Duke with all speed to ask his advice 
and orders. 

" The Duke was anything but pleased with the thwart- 
ing of his plan and the possible detection of his trick, 
and, seeing no other way out of the difficulty, determined 
that Joseph should be put to death. So he commanded 
Polydorus to bring him to the palace, where he was at 
once committed to the custody of the Duke's guards. 
Leonora, discovering this, was raised to new hopes, and 
thought it a favourable opportunity to renew her designs, 
so she commissioned Pudentilla to go and warn the youth 
of his danger, and to tell him in addition that her love 
to him was still constant, in spite of his past unkindness, 
that she wished to save his life, and would do so if he 
would but return his preserver's love, and so of himself 
save two lives, her own and his. Pudentilla was able 
to convey this message privately through the assistance 
of the household guards ; but when it reached Joseph, he 
was more disgusted than ever at such a vile proposal, 
and his reply was that he refused to free himself from 
a false crime by the commission of a real one. Thus 
was Leonora's last hope gone, and her love-lust, checked 
and baffled, turned itself to fiercest hate. She urged on 
her husband to carry out the execution he had already 
planned, and after a little discussion induced him to 
appoint the very next day for the trial. 

1 The proof they were thinking of was no doubt the bleeding of the 
murdered victim in the presence of the murderer, a vulgar superstition 
of long continuance with the rabble. 


"Then was the corpse brought into court, and Joseph 
tried for his life. The first witness was Polydorus, who 
gave a long account of the circumstances of the murder. 
Then other witnesses spoke to the flight from the house. 
But the spectacle of the dead body created such horror 
at the prisoner's guilt that no ordinary defence would 
have gained attention or credit, for the interruptions 
and execrations of the crowd left no doubt as to the 
extreme manner in which the case was already prejudged. 
Joseph remained calm throughout the enquiry, and when 
silence was with difficulty obtained, and he was just about 
to begin his defence, a new and unexpected event altered 
the whole bearings of the case. From the supposed corpse 
there came forth a deep sigh, and then suddenly, after 
several quick jerks of the limbs, the Ethiopian stood on 
his feet before them all. 

" Dazed apparently, and as if only half awake, he began 
to cry out : ' Woe is me ! Where am I ? What crowd is 
this? Has Joseph escaped from prison?' 

" Such a sudden apparition, as it were from the dead, 
made all present glance in terror now at the Ethiopian, 
now at Joseph, now at Polydorus and the presiding judges. 
Presently some approached the arisen man more closely, 
while others whispered significantly, and others again 
loudly declared that an innocent man's condemnation had 
been attempted by a bungling artifice. The whole court 
was so thrown into confusion that the case was adjourned 
for the time, and Joseph set free to go where he liked, 
for if they kept him in guard, there was the danger that 
they might eventually change places with him through 
his evidence. So Joseph took his departure, and, prudently 
deeming all these events boded serious danger to himself, 
from that day he was never seen in Palermo. 

" It was, of course, a nine days' wonder in the city. 
The Duke, enraged with Polydorus, dismissed him from 
his post, while Polydorus in turn wreaked his vengeance 
on the Ethiopian, whom he accused of conspiring along 
with Joseph and the two guards, and pretending to be 
dead, and in a great rage had him scourged and tortured. 


" When the common report reached Philippina, it caused 
her to love him all the more, who had gone through 
these troubles through her fault, and made her still more 
disaffected to her father. As to her lover's leaving her 
in such a way, she made herself believe that it was not 
from any disdain or dislike, but that he was obliged to 
go against his will to save his life. This I found out 
afterwards, for she never breathed a word to me then, 
or gave me any idea that she intended flight. She passed 
her days quietly, attracting no notice, and waiting for 
her opportunity. This came through her having the 
chance of taking the clothes of one of the young lads 
who were in waiting at Court. She disguised herself in 
these, and concealed her own attire a cunning device 
this last, which quite misled us, for while we were all 
searching for a female fugitive, she had slipped through 
the vigilance of the guards in her man's attire, and indeed 
continued in that disguise afterwards. It was not long 
before we found out our mistake, for the lad complained 
that he had been robbed of a suit, and on further search 
her discarded vesture was brought to light. 

" She first crossed over to Italy, and on leaving there 
she wrote to me that her fair fame had been so endangered 
by her father's course of action that she could not live 
any longer among her own people, preferring exile for 
a time till the trouble should be over, and that then she 
would return, unless their rigour prevented it. My belief 
is she went from Italy to Judaea. That she disguised 
herself very completely her body is the best evidence. 
Her golden hair has been discoloured by a leaden comb ; 
her face she so altered, by exposure to the sun and air, 
that except for certain proofs I should not have known 
it to be the same. 

" When the Duke read the letters, although they showed 
I was no confederate in her flight, but rather favoured 
her father's views, he still chafed much within himself; 
and when I gave my opinion that his daughter loved 
Joseph still, and had gone to search for him in his own 
country, he was full of rage against me because I had 


not told him of this before. I verily believe he would 
have had me put to death if I had not been useful for 
this search. When, too, his emissaries returned from 
Italy with the news that his daughter had embarked for 
Syria, his mind was made up, and he sent me off with 
some trustworthy associates to make my way hither, 
adding that he was willing to fall in with his daughter's 
wishes, and would receive Joseph as his son-in-law if only 
he would bring his daughter home again, and that he 
had enough to maintain them both in comfort and luxury." 

She had just reached this point of her story when the 
return and entrance of Joseph made her ashamed to say 
more, and so, perhaps not unfortunately, cut short the 
remaining and superfluous part of her narration. 

Then Jacob, turning towards Joseph, said : " Oh ! my 
son, if Philippina had revealed the secret of her heart to 
me, perchance you would have yielded somewhat to such 
a piteous tale of a maiden's true love." 

" Yes," answered Joseph, " I shall ever count it among 
my greatest misfortunes of life that such a great and 
unrequited love had such a mournful issue. Until now 
I had always thought it enough to guard myself from 
the fires of Love ; for the future I shall also be careful 
not to light the flame in another's breast." 

Having finished conversation, they went to supper, and 
after that, courteously dismissed the Sicilians to their 



NOW, these adventures had much impressed Politian, 
and meeting Joseph one day by chance, he asked 
him by what power of mind, or by what superhuman 
ability, he was able to resist such a universal conqueror 
as Love. 

" I am," answered Joseph, " under the power of Love 
far more than you think, but it is the love which is 
heavenly and Divine which possesses me body and soul. 1 
Nor am I a laggard or faint-hearted herein, but ardent 
and sanguine. You shall hear, if you will, a poetic out- 
burst of the sacred flame. 

"Away from me away, ye lightsome minds, 
Whom Beauty captive leads with but a glance, 3 
Whose inmost heart is dazed and thrilled with love 
Of one fair face. Ay me, what boots it thus 
To overload with praise some fickle girl, 

1 Milton had the same views concerning Love that Joseph has 
expressed in the text. Hear Milton in one of his many autobiographical 
remarks : " If I should tell ye what I learnt of Chastity and Love, I 
mean that which is truly so, whose charming cup is only Virtue, which 
she bears in her hand to those who are worthy ; (the rest are cheated 
with a thick intoxicating potion, which a certain sorceress the abuser 
of Love's name carries about ;) and how the first and chiefest office 
of Love begins and ends in the soul, producing those happy twins of 
her Divine generation, Knowledge and Virtue. With such abstracted 
sublimities as these, it might be worth your listening, readers, as I may 
one day hope to have ye in a still time, when there shall be no 
eluding " (Prose Works, iii. 119, Bohn). 

* Beauty stands 

In the admiration only of weak minds 

Led captive. 

(Paradise Regained, ii. 229. ) 



Or thus to love a fleeting, shadowy form 

As though it were not earth-born, but Divine ? 

Oh! why not turn our bright ethereal minds 1 

To objects more akin in Heaven itself? 

For there, His brow with sacred glory crowned, 

The very brightness of His Father's face, 

Behold our King so fair: the fairest far 

Among ten thousand He, o'er all supreme. 

O Thou great Head Divine of this our race, 

Thee did the Father join unto Himself 

Par. Lost, iii. 377. (Who dwells in light, throned, inaccessible, 

Isa. xl. 17. Counting all nations in His sight as nought ;) 

And with an equal joy did Thee embrace, 

Par. Lost, iii. 384. His Son, His own Divine Similitude. 

To Thee and to Thy sceptre all things bow, 
All tribes of earth, and all her mighty kings, 
And all the infernal hosts that conquered lie 

Par. Lost, i. 210. Chained on the burning lake. To Thy great praise 
All Heaven resounds, for ever echoing forth 
The joyful concent of celestial song. 2 
Thou raisest up the fallen race of men 
Pollute with shame; beneath the yoke of sin 
In vain they strive, till Thou in Thy great love 
Dost grant indulgent aid, and from the jaws 
Of Hell to Thy eternal bosom snatched 

Rom. vii. 17. (Of God's great Kingdom joint-inheritors), 

They reach the mansions of their heavenly home. 
There all the angels and ethereal powers 

1 Aetheriae mentes. Miltonic ; frequent in Paradise Lost. 
3 This line, 

The joyful concent of celestial song, 

seems to have contained a favourite fancy of our young author, for 
this is the second time it occurs word for word in his poems. The 
Latin here is : 

Totus tibi consonat aether 
Laetaque perpetuo tollit praeconia cantu; 

and we have the same line in the second 'Armada fragment. Now, 
Milton in his youthful days also thus expressed himself in what 
Dr. Garnett calls Milton's Ideal of Song that fine composition entitled 
At a Solemn Music : 

And to our high-raised phantasy present 
That undisturbed song of pure concent 
Aye sung before the sapphire-coloured throne 
To Him that sits thereon. 

The other passage of Nova Solyma is where the attendant host of 


In wonder gaze at this unwonted sight, 
This glory never theirs. Fain would they serve 
The newly welcomed guests ; fain would they crave 
That blessed post of those who stand and wait, 

Thou whom saints and angels ever praise, 
My heart is bowed submissive to Thy will ; 

1 follow where Thy footsteps lead me on. 

" Oh, when shall these poor longing eyes of mine 
Behold Thy blessed Face, Thy Form Divine ? l 
Oh ! when shall I be joined to that great band 
Of happy saints who round their Saviour stand, 
Their souls in mystic union, one with Christ, 
In Him completed, and by Him sufficed ? 3 

" It is my custom," Joseph went on to say, " thus by 
poesy to exercise the higher emotions which God has 

angels can be seen surrounding its leader as flames encompass the 
orb of the sun. The Latin is : 

Et regem flammis cunctum coelestibus ambit, 
Laetaque perpetuo tollit praeconia cantu ; 

which I rendered : 

Their King, in burning rows 
Encompassing ; the while they echo forth 
The joyful concent of celestial song. 

But let us hear how Milton proceeds in his At a Solemn Music : 

To Him that sits thereon, 
With saintly shout and solemn jubilee ; 
Where the bright Seraphim in burning row 
Their loud uplifted angel-trumpets blow. 

I submit these passages without further comment, except to call 
attention to the musical rhythm of the twice-quoted Latin hexameter. 
I think Landor would have praised it and counted it worthy of Milton. 

1 A pathetic aspiration, verily, of the youthful poet who in after- 
life had to long for the "vision perfected" through so many lonely 
years of total darkness. 

* The Latin of these last two lines is : 

Nos ut perpetuo liceat tibi jungere nexu, 

Et miscere animas, totumque absolvere Christum, 

where the three concluding words are in the highest degree Miltonic, 
for they are a classical rendering of a great Scriptural promise 
(Ephesians iv. 13) that we should ''all come in the unity of the faith 
and of the knowledge of the Son of God, unto a perfect man, unto the 


implanted in all, for it is my opinion that herein lies 
the greatest service of that art to man. 

"Some persons make the mistake of devoting them- 
selves to poetry alone, or to little else ; while others, 
chiefly of the uncultured class, from want of taste for it, 
fall into the equal error of either boorish indifference or 
envious railing. 

" The true life that we should embrace is one of solid 
reality and severe earnestness ; l not a course of life that 
promises the greatest gain, or the most luxurious ease, 
nor yet one leading to mere fame or successful ambition, 
but rather that way should be chosen which, from a 
careful consideration of all things, seems most likely to 
tend to the glory of God and the service of our fellow- 
citizens. Such a life, when chosen, is of ever-increasing 
interest ; nay, it is well worth our while to devote our 
leisure time and holiday intervals to the same great 
aims, for he must indeed be the happiest of men whose 
labour of life is of unceasing interest and a never-failing 

" As for me," continued Joseph, " I am daily turning 
over these great matters in my mind, and am looking 
forward to the time when I shall be called from my 

measure of the stature of the fulness of Christ." The Latin word 
absol-vere, among its many meanings of " to loosen," " to pay," " to 
absolve," "to dismiss," etc., has also the good Ciceronian meaning of 
complere, that is, "to fill up, complete, or make perfect." It is so used 
here. And this is the favourite Miltonic use in several places : 

Yet when I approach 
Her loveliness, so absolute she seems 
And in her herself complete 

(Paradise Lost, viii. 546), 

where absolute means finished. Other passages are "through all 
numbers absolute" (Paradise Lost, viii. 421), mentioned before in 
another connection, and " absolved " in Paradise Lost, vii. 94, where 
it again means "finished." 

1 Cf. Introduction, and what is said there of Milton's Pythagorean 
principles. Cf. also Goethe, who once said that he who would manifest 
himself in future as a great entelecheia must be one now. This was 
a fine sentiment, but Goethe did not live up to it very successfully. 


father's household to some useful position where I can 
serve my country." 1 

1 This remark of Joseph living with his father until some public post 
fell to his lot leads me to think that Nova Solyma was composed while 
Milton was staying with his father at Horton those five years after he 
had left the university. They were years of strenuous literary leisure 
(strenua inertia), during which he was in the singular position of a man 
living in his father's house without any profession or business or official 
post of any kind, as appearances went, supinely letting the years go 
by, yet all the while intensely conscious that he had the promise in 
him of something great, something unattempted in literature, and 
something for his country's gain to which one day he would be called 
forth. These hopes, which his self-esteem gave him even in early 
days, were not unfounded. He was called to serve his country as 
Latin Secretary, and later on, when blind and feeble, he gave to the 
Republic of Letters and to the whole world " a possession for always" 
in his sublime epic. We have seen how many little autobiographical 
touches occur both in Milton's acknowledged works and in Nova 
Solyma, in the latter case chiefly where Joseph is concerned. I take 
this allusion to be another instance of this kind. 




SUCH noble views of life filled Politian with admira- 
tion. He felt that no praise could be undeserved 
for one who, lacking nothing that a man could want, 
willingly sought out for himself arduous and useful work. 
He had, too, a secret feeling of shame at the very un- 
grounded suspicions he had entertained, which were now 
changed to the greatest respect. He was amazed and 
disquieted at the horrid thoughts his jealous love had 
suggested, and his conscience smote him for his sinister 

At this juncture Jacob came in with a sorrowful 
countenance, and asked Joseph to go at once to Caesarea 
and fetch home his sister, as he had just heard that her 
aunt, with whom she had been staying, had recently died. 
So Joseph prepared to start at once, and his two friends, 
seizing this opportunity of seeing again the Daughter of 
Zion, asked Joseph to be allowed to accompany him for 
the sake of companionship. This well-devised plea was 
accepted, and they all started together, "the attendants 
receiving a hint from Joseph not to mention his sister's 
name. They arrived safely at Caesarea, and all hastened 
back home as soon as possible. Eugenius and Politian, 
who lately, by their occupations and discussions, had 
somewhat healed Love's deadly wound, now that they 
had so many chances of seeing their lady-love and being 
with her at table, began to feel the sore opening afresh. 
Rising to the occasion, they both proceeded to make love 
to her in good earnest, and the more ardent they became, 

5 8 

Bk. V, Ch. Ill] A LOVE SONG 99 

the more did each fear the other as his rival, for each 
felt that Love's prize and victory would be with him who 
first obtained her favour, for if she gave her love to one, 
then it was but right, as between friends, that the other 
should yield all pretensions to her hand and heart. 

Now, Eugenius especially flattered himself as being a 
rather good-looking and well-dressed man, and so more 
likely to take a lady's fancy. This conceit of his often 
irritated Politian, who used to bestow scowling sidelong 
glances while Eugenius was devouring his lady-love with 
his eyes, and whispering to her soft nothings, and such 
other vain talk as lovers use. 

Once, indeed, when Eugenius was pacing to and fro 
alone in the garden, he was heard to utter to the winds 
the following strain, from which I think any sensible 
person can judge of the vain folies of love : 

Oh ! stop her, stop the thief, I pray, 
For she has stol'n my heart away. 
Ah ! see ! she flees she will not stay ; 
Oh, stop her, men and maidens, pray ! 
She has ribbons red and robe of white, 
And golden girdle gleaming bright ; 
You cannot miss her, for her brow 
Is whiter than the driven snow ; 
No milk-white robe or lily fair 
Can with that beauteous brow compare, 
Nor can the flash of her twin eyes 
Be equalled save in yonder skies ; 
Her hair is radiant, golden brown, 
Such as Apollo's self might own ; l 
She tripped away on lightsome feet, 
In Nature's realm no pair so neat ; 
And never can their match be found 
But in themselves the world around. 
O men and maidens, all beware 
Lest, when you see this maid so fair, 
That brow with ivory that vies, 
Those golden locks, those love-lit eyes, 
Should seize you with a strange surprise, 

1 Cf. Milton's " Unshorn Apollo," At a Vacation Exercise, line 37, 
derived originally from Horace, Odes, I. xxii. 4, 


Should cast upon you such a spell 
That you should lose ah 1 sad to tell 
Your own poor hearts and her as well. 1 

Now, Politian happened to be not far off in the same 
garden, seeking in its solitude to give free vent to the 
thoughts and desires of his troubled mind. He noticed 
his rival (for he had almost ceased to think of him as a 
friend) approaching, and purposely hid himself, so that 
he might judge from his looks and actions as to his success 
in his suit. When he heard him reciting his love poetry, 
his first feeling was that of sneering contempt ; then he 
turned indignant, and at last furious, and, losing patience, 
rushed forth from his hiding-place, and glaring at Eugenius, 
who was startled at his sudden appearance, he straightway 
accused him of everything that was bad folly, madness, 
lust, impiety and threatened him that if he did not at 
once give up his abominable passion, he would with his 
own hands sacrifice his base and worthless life as an offer- 
ing to the fair fame of the maiden he was dishonouring. 

Eugenius, although aware that his poetical effusion was 
somewhat light and trifling, was greatly incensed at such 
an intemperate address for so little reason, and, to show 
he had nothing to be ashamed of, boldly replied : " I 

1 The metre of the original Latin is Anacreontic, and was not at all 
a usual metre in Milton's days. In classical Latinity the Anacreontic 
seems absent, nor did the monks of the Middle Ages favour this 
species of verse. The first Neo-Latinist who led the way, as with 
a torch, was Fredericus Taubmannus in his fine nuptial Anacreontic 
in honour of Paulus Melissus, a brother-poet, and his bride Aemilia 
Jordana (the Rosina that came at last!) in 1593. It is a long ode 
of nearly four hundred lines, full of the repetitions and reciprocal 
jingles peculiar to this metre, and was held up as a model in the 
schools for some time, anyhow till 1614, when it was praised by 
the Giessen professors in their text-book of verse. N. Reusnerus, 
H. Meibomius, and C. Barthius followed the fashion thus started, 
and through them Anacreon rose from his long sleep. I attribute 
its use in our Romance to the fact that there is a very pretty 
specimen of this new-fashioned verse in the Comus of Puteanus, 
a book which Milton had, as we know, read and used. Cf. Comus, 
ed. 1611, p. 5 5. 


admit I love her, and I am inclined to suspect that 
you love her too, and that this explains your unguarded 
language. It can be no common love affair, Politian, which 
thus breaks in upon our friendship. Love has played the 
tyrant with us both, so let us mutually transfer the blame 
to him. However, since we cannot both attain our wish, 
why not act reasonably in the matter, and judiciously? 
Whether you wish to settle our contest for our Queen 
of Beauty on our personal and intellectual merits, or 
whether you prefer to decide by recourse to arms, in 
either case I am ready : do whatever you dare ; do 
whatever you are sufficient for." 

Politian, who felt too confused to give much of an 
answer, only said : " To-morrow, then, you shall find me 
awaiting you in the neighbouring field, and we will settle 
this bad blood with the sword." 

Eugenius took this challenge very good-humouredly, 
solemnly declaring that beyond this present unfortunate 
and unvoidable wrangle there was not a particle of ill-will 
in his mind, and offered to shake hands upon it in re- 
membrance of their long and sacred friendship. Politian, 
however, who had worked himself into a temper, would 
have none of it, and without further ceremony again said : 
" I shall await you on the field to-morrow." 

Meanwhile, Joseph, happening by chance to look out 
from his chamber window, noticed these two having high 
words together, and although he did not attach much 
importance to the quarrel, yet he was very vexed that 
such friends as they were should fall out about anything, 
and intended to make peace between them at the first 
opportunity. This came very soon, for he next saw 
Politian walk away from the garden in evidently a very 
angry mood. So Joseph hastened down to meet him, and 
asked him the cause of this altercation ; and getting no 
reply, he went a little farther to ask Eugenius. But all 
his questioning was in vain shame kept one silent, 
vengeance the other ; but foreboding something serious 
on account of such obstinate concealment, he determined 
not to give the matter up, but to try another method. 

102 A DIALOGUE [Bk. V 

He sent for them to come up to his room, and having 
said first some kindly words on the dignity of true friend- 
ship, and of his own great regard for each of them, 
he earnestly besought them to open the whole matter 
to him, adding this : " If you refuse, I shall say you 
either mistrust me as as arbiter, or mistrust your own 

Eugenius, when he could no longer resist such an 
appeal, then said : " For my part, I would willingly 
accept your advice ; but the dispute is of a sort that 
cannot be settled even by such a fair arbiter as yourself, 
nor, if one of us were to kill the other, would even that 
end the difficulty." 

This curious answer set Joseph thinking hard for some 
time how to solve this monstrous riddle. At last he broke 
silence. " Without doubt you both desire the same object, 
which cannot be shared between you ; and my conclusion 
is, you are both in love with the same woman." 

When neither of them, conscience-smitten, said a word 
in reply, Joseph became more confident that he had hit 
upon the truth, but was careful not to ask either the name 
of the lady, or to let them suppose he had guessed it, 
and began to speak to them thus : 

" Although you have given me little or no information 
to guide me in this love affair, let us philosophise a little 
generally on this matter, and let me try to save you both 
from the folly that so often accompanies love. 

" There is nothing more beautiful than true love, nothing 
more foolish than the folly of it. Love is that desire 
for union by which all things seek to obtain their due 
completion and perfection. This desire is implanted by 
Nature in all, according to the measure of their capacity. 
Inanimate objects, by a blind and senseless attraction, are 
drawn one to the other by fixed unerring laws. The 
animal creation satisfies the desire we speak of, and has, 
moreover, a sense of pleasure therein ; but with them the 
desire is rather from a natural lust and rage than from 
any rational conception of true happiness, and that same 
desire which first impels them ends with the completed act. 


" But to us, who are gifted with reason, there has been 
allotted a very keen and comprehensive faculty of desiring 
and enjoying things at our own will and choice. This all- 
important faculty has been implanted in us by the Deity, 
with a view to the worship of His Infinite Power, and 
subordinate to that it embraces all things in their order. 
At times it is perverse, and sets its affections on the things 
that are less worthy of it ; but even then there is some 
similitude of its Divine origin still remaining, though it 
may wretchedly perish under the maddening influence of 
depraved tastes, and continually pursue the headlong 
course that leadeth to destruction. 

" Thus it is that so many occupy themselves with foolish 
and trivial objects, and those who do seem to have higher 
aims fall into an insatiable greed for wealth or position. 
Yet no one, whatever be his natural tendency, can fall so 
low at the first onset, or run such risks as he does later 
on, when by a false appreciation and continued devotion 
he comes to make the idols he has set up the supreme 
objects of his existence. For instance, he who falls in 
love with a woman is first struck by some beauty in her 
that pleases him, and dwelling on it again and again, at 
last his thoughts become fixed on her, and in order that 
his ideal may satisfy his conception, he delights to conceal 
her failings, and is ever ready to give her charms beside 
that dwell only in his own imagination. So he loves to 
be in love, and, to guard himself from doing aught that 
might be thought unworthy of him, he conforms to the 
conventional laws of society, and assumes the virtues of 
faith and honour. Then is your honourable lover and 
perfect gentleman caught in his own devices, and becomes 
the very slave of his mistress, a mere girl, perhaps. And 
the more he perseveres in his blind folly, the more credit 
he counts it to himself, and the more praise he gets from 
his fellows who hold the same foolish views. 

" As for such romantic idealists, 1 I could not decide 

1 These remarks of Joseph (i.e. Milton) to the young Cambridge 
undergraduate Politian concerning the romantic idealism of Love 
may be well compared with what a Cambridge undergraduate of the 


whether it would be better for them to possess their real 
Juno in the flesh, or to go on for ever embracing in their 
thoughts her unsubstantial cloud which their imagination 
had substituted. For when the beloved object is their 
own, oh, what a falling off is there ! Having expected far 
too much, how often does matrimony become to them 
both a regret and a bore ! And if the beloved object 
refuses to be their own, often enough they become more 
infatuated than ever. They lead the happiest married 
lives who avoid the romantic extremes of courtship, and 
let the strain of Love pursue a quiet, even course, wherein 
it obeys its true law. But these false ideas of Love are a 
veritable plague, a flaw in the mirror of perfection, which 
makes the flaw all the worse, 1 a plague that is very 
catching with generous and noble minds, and from which 
recovery is very difficult." 

This last imputation Eugenius could not let pass in 
silence, for he held the opinion that there was a Divine 
influence and fate in Love, and thus did he defend his 
faith : 

" You speak of Love as a pest, a plague, but surely this 
wondrous elective affinity of the soul is derived from some 
occult power of Nature herself, such as she exerts when 
the iron is drawn to the magnet and the heliotrope to the 
sun. All are not drawn to the same beautiful woman, 

present day has to say to modern 'Varsity men on the same subject 
in the Granla for May nth, 1901. The words are : 

"A few spirits must be found among three thousand youths in the 
springtime of life to whose passions the Midianitish woman must 
always appeal. And yet, I suppose, somewhere deep down in every 
one of us there rises at times a vague vision of perfect womanhood ; 
the potter gives us a handful of his clay which we bespangle with the 
star-dust of Fancy, and beautify with light from some dreamland sun." 

Well rowed, Cambridge ! There is a rhythmical sweep in your oars 
and a pretty swing in your style. Verily you are most ardent and 
romantic idealists in regard to Love's young dream, and could hold 
your own even against " Joseph," the veiled lady of Christ's, and so 
you ought. There was no Girton in his days with its visions of beauty, 
nor for him were there any sweet girl-graduates with their golden hair. 
That privilege is yours, and you rightfully make the most of it. 

1 Corruptio optimi pessima, is what is meant. 

Ch. Ill] OF LOVE 105 

nor are all repelled by a plain one. Love, too, is the 
seminal spark of that noble conjugal flame which of itself 
burst forth in the first parents of our race, 1 and no sweeter 
or more blissful inheritance has been handed on to us, 
their degenerate descendants. 

" Another special blessing of Love is this : it not only 
covers and hides, but it fills up as well the many aching 
voids of our vain and trivial life, and, like its Divine 
Prototype, it is willing to spend and be spent for those 
who perhaps least deserve it. And then, how constant 
is true love, and how lasting ! Nought can change it, not 
even death ; true love never dies." 

Such words made Joseph all the more eager to restrain 
with prudent counsel the exuberant enthusiasm of so good 
a defender, so he continued thus : 

" Surely we cannot rightly say that Love, in its violence 
and distemper, is a gift of Nature, or that a power which 
so constantly urges us to act against reason and justice, 
and to break the golden rule of moderation, can have 
any claim to perfection. If it comes from Fate, then it 
is certainly sent as a punishment, and perhaps for former 
sins. It is no gift of God, for He is not such an im- 
provident Dispenser as to purposely bestow upon us 
desires which so many must fail to satisfy, or, if they 
do satisfy them, lose their common sense in the attempt. 

" Consider prudently and soberly what dire effects 
passionate love has wrought in you two. It is on the 
point of destroying a long intercourse of faithful, mutual 
friendship, and hurrying you both into feelings of hatred 
and fury. 

" You claim Nature on your side ; but Nature opens her 
treasury of love to the whole race, for they do greatly 
err who by some false esteem of the ties of blood give 
their kinsmen all their love, and so have none left for 
strangers, whereas all of us, kinsmen and strangers, are 

1 That " seminal spark " and that " noble conjugal flame " were, 
within twenty years, to be exhibited to the world of phantasy and art 
in such a noble way as none before or since has ever attained unto, 
and the present speaker, then blind, was to do it ! 



partakers of the same nature and the same blood, and 
neighbours each in his degree. 

" Nor in true friendship is there any place for jealousy 
or for excluding the services of others. But in courtship, 
which is an honour to a woman if brought to a successful 
issue, an adulterer or a feigned gallant is excluded, but 
not so rival suitors they take their chance, just as when 
there are many candidates who have sufficient grounds 
for hoping to obtain some important post, and many 
applicants who have a fair chance of the same vacancy. 
But a proper restraint must be observed in competing, 
and candidates must give way and retire before the rival 
to whom the most votes fall, otherwise they are not 
righting fairly, and show themselves influenced by a bad 
and grasping spirit. 

" God Himself gave our first parents the law of wed- 
lock, and within that law are our desires to be restrained ; 
there are more partners to choose from now, nor do 
I in the least think it a mark of prudence to abstain 
from choosing altogether, for indeed matrimony is the 
foundation stone of society, and should be in the highest 
degree honoured and guarded, lest the other duties 
of life suffer through the neglect of it. Position, age, 
suitable habits, and hundreds of other things which we 
young lovers in our excited passion so easily overlook, 
are really things deserving our most serious deliberation ; 
in fact, no one requires to have all his senses about him 
more than he who is just about to plunge into matrimony. 1 
No one should be more careful to be free from false 
impressions not that I would have him try to free him- 
self from his love, but rather to hold it well in hand by 
the curb of reason, so as not to interfere with anything 
that is lawful and just. 

" Moreover, if this passionate love is a matter of natural 
temperament, as you aver, or affinity, why does it spring 
from the eyes rather than from the other senses, and why is 
it extinguished between our nearest and dearest relations, 

1 It would be interesting to know whether these words were written 
before or.after the strange courtship of Mary Powell. 


and why not always reciprocal, so that, fostered by kindly 
Nature, Love's young dream could never fail to discover 
and be united to its own ideal ? Nor do the dove and 
the swan and other such examples of faithful love in the 
realm of Nature escape the same objections. 

" I allow indeed that there are certain hidden elements 
of magnetic affinity which must not be left out of con- 
sideration in the marriage bond, for they are often the 
inducing causes and the abiding happiness thereof; but 
we should not let them seduce us, or carry us off captives 
at their will ; rather should they bring our judgment 
to act, for Nature has given to us authority over our 
passions, so that they can be ruled by the powers of 
our reason. There is no end, it is true, to the fancies 
we may foolishly cherish, but it is only when we quite 
cast off from us the reins and curb of sober judgment 
that we are utterly undone. 

"You both, I think, are in a somewhat parlous state 
just now through Love's enchantment. But fortunately 
I have another reason, a practical one, which shall quickly 
and completely set you free from your troubles ; only 
wait a moment, and you shall see how foolish you lovers 
can be." 

With this he asked them to follow him down from 
his chamber, which they did, greatly wondering what 
was to happen. When they came to a room below, he 
called a certain servant, and privately confided to him 
what he wanted done. 

Not long after his sister Anna came into the room, 
and the very sight of her fair face was almost enough 
to drive all her brother's philosophy clean out of their 
heads. She, after just greeting them, and saying a few 
words to Joseph, made some excuse, and went out again. 
While they were talking together, presently Joanna made 
her appearance, dressed exactly like her sister, and the 
very image of her. Both the lovers took it for granted 
that Anna had returned, and felt the same love-ecstasy 
seize them again as they gazed upon her with admiring 
eyes, until Anna, following out the plan Joseph had 


arranged, came again into the room. The lovers, in utter 
amazement, at first thought some ghost had visited them : 
presently they began to look from one sister to the other 
in great anxiety ; they seemed to doubt the evidence 
of their eyes, and to be struck dumb as well. 

Joseph, who was genially amused at the incident, at 
length broke silence with a pleasant laugh. "Which of 
these two ladies do you say is my sister? Surely, if 
ever they marry, that will be a hard question for their 

This aroused Eugenius, and put him somewhat to 
the blush ; but he managed to stammer out the reply 
that of all the beautiful sights he had yet seen in Solyma 
this was the most wonderful, for one lady was the very 
reflection and counterpart of the other, and one portrait 
would suffice for both. 

Politian, who had so far kept a sorrowful silence, now 
said : " No longer will I wonder at the variety of feature 
and complexion to be found in the human face a greater 
wonder is here, an elegance beyond compare in two who, 
when compared, are still without a peer." 

" These sisters of mine," replied Joseph, " are twins 
Anna, who lives here, and has come back to us to see her 
sister, and Joanna, who has only just arrived, as you know, 
from Caesarea. We, who are often with them, of course 
can distinguish the one from the other, especially when 
they are together ; but the way that strangers are deceived 
and surprised is an oft- repeated and most amusing family 
joke. I was thinking not long ago of playing off this 
joke upon you, as a friendly test of your powers of 
recognition, and now, when the two sisters were both at 
home, I have taken the opportunity, as you see." 

The girls, who could not help smiling a little at these 
remarks, joined in the general conversation for a moment 
or two, and then withdrew. Joseph, having successfully 
accomplished his design, proceeded to improve the 

"Surely," said he, "this object-lesson proves my argu- 
ment about love. If either of you should fancy you were 

Ch. Ill] LOVE IS A MANIA 109 

in love with Anna and her only, would not your eyes, your 
feelings, your very soul be all aflame for some one else, if 
her sister by chance took her place ? No doubt this was 
Jacob's experience when he took Leah for Rachel." 

To this they could make no answer their silence gave 
consent ; and when at length they opened their lips again, 
it was to make the confession that Love must be an 
enchantment, some magic spell that brought in its train 
unreason and folly. The more they wavered, the more 
did Joseph press them back. 

" Yes," said he, " that is Love's special defect : no one 
can be in love and in his right mind at the same time. 1 
How many crimes has this madness of lovers to answer 
for ! It drives them on across the boundary line, and 
so they go from love to lust, much as your noble gallants 
may forswear and abominate that odious word. Its 
beginnings are quiet, and perhaps unnoticed : a certain 
luxurious weakness of disposition gradually loosens the 
hold of sober judgment ; a warmth of feeling is continually 
springing up within and is not checked ; and the spark of 
eager desire bursts forth at last, and, fanned by Cupid's 
wings, it soon bursts into flame, and shameless Venus 
claims us as her own. By some perverse and overpowering 
instinct she makes the pure and heavenly part of us yield 
in subjection to our grosser and more earthly body, yea, 
even to its most vile and unworthy members ; and so it 
comes to pass that this stain of lust doth defile and torture 
us wellnigh as much as if we were the vilest felons. If this 
vice be long persisted in, it passes all restraint and limit, 
as we read of the Caesars, and it becomes a mere swinish 
wallowing in the mire. For when w6 cease to respect 
ourselves, neither shame nor scorn can keep us from the 
vilest deed. So it was that our first father Adam rightly 
veiled those sensual parts when he had fallen, for he knew 
the lustful fury, shame, and guilt which came through them 
to all the race. Indeed, many of the natural actions of 

1 Illustrations and confirmations of this dictum could be piled up to any 
height, from the fMivia of Plato and Socrates up to the erotic, neurotic, 
and tommy-rotic productions of the modern press ; but I forbear. 


our bodies, if unrestrained, are considered unseemly, such 
as gaping and yawning at meals, the rude stare, the 
unchaste leer, even so small an offence as letting our 
mouth water all are considered as signs of the absence 
of a well-regulated mind, and much more are those 
prurient actions which cannot be mentioned without 
a shock to unsullied ears. 

" Even before the Fall there was a certain uncleanliness 
in certain of our members, and their very position points 
to it ; by the Mosaic law there was certain sacred occasions 
when a man's lawful wife was forbidden to him, and our 
forefathers were commanded to go without the camp, each 
one with his little spade, 1 so that the camp might be 

" Now, my point is, that whatever sacred injunction 
is here laid upon us takes its origin [and purpose from the 
defiling possibilities of our nature, and further that this 
defilement of nature is admitted by all, even the most 
brutal and degraded savages, and everywhere is it a 
disgrace to our race when the customary bonds of modesty 
are broken. 

" Before lust came into the world there was no shame. 
Lust and shame entered together, and then it became 
necessary to exclude these incitements from the wandering 
eyes of fallen humanity. Not that I think it wrong to 
speak of these matters plainly, as doctors are obliged 
to do, avoiding impure suggestion, 2 and we know, too, 
how the Bible mentions such things. My own opinion 
is, that to discuss these matters seriously and philosophic- 
ally is much better than leaving them alone, and often 
proves to be a sound check to lustful fancy so long as 
we do not pry too curiously into the wanton mysteries, 
for it is often the case that a jealous concealment of 
charms is much more exciting than a liberal display. 
He therefore that would be chaste should not let his eyes 

1 The Latin here is liguncula. It is one of our author's inventions 
or substitutions, and is very Miltonic. See Excursus L., on Latin 
prose style of Nova Solyma. 

1 Extra salacitatem. 


wander too much over a pretty figure or a handsome 
face, nor add fuel to the fire of lust by listening to loose 
stage plays, or looking into improper books, or even 
by being too much addicted to the pleasures of the table ; 
above all should he avoid listless indolence, 1 which is, 
in my opinion, a very cradle for Cupid to nestle in, a 
very bed for Venus to make her own. Let such a man 
turn his eyes towards our most perfect pattern, Christ, 
and so, drawing from such a fount, shall he extinguish 
the culinary fire of inward lust by the greater and more 
sacred flames of heavenly love. Does not all this show 
that to be driven away from God by the whirlwind assaults 
of our baser passions is no trivial matter, or one that can 
be passed off by a scoffing jest, but that it is a crime so 
seductive, and so deeply rooted in our nature, that to 
renounce the sin, or even to expiate it by contrition, 
is a hard thing indeed ? " 2 

1 Most likely thinking of Ovid's admirable line : 
Otia si tollas, periere Cupidinis arcus. 

* Surely here speaks " the Lady of Christ's." 



WHEN the speaker ceased, Eugenius, who had 
a generous and conscientious disposition, at 
once cried out : " It is not only God's pardon we have 
to ask, but we ought to crave your indulgence and 
forgiveness also, for we have loved your sister which 
one, indeed, we hardly knew, nor does that much matter, 
since we have loved neither in the right way ; but if you 
condemn us, we will plunge in our own breasts the swords 
which, as rivals, we were about to unsheath against 
each other." 

Such a monstrous proposal struck Joseph with horror, 
and, as their secret had now been revealed, he gave them 
his opinion as follows : 

"In my view, you ought first to forgive each other, 
nor have you the right to hope that God will wipe away 
the offence, or your friends forget the injury, until you 
have made peace between yourselves. Look, too, at 
the pitfalls opening at your feet : first homicide, and 
then suicide, and both crimes customarily connected 
with love affairs, and covered or shielded by the same 
veneer of honour. Young bloods full of spirit, just of 
the age to be dazzled by the tinsel glitter of what is 
called " the honour of a gentleman," will not permit the 
least indignity or contradiction to pass unnoticed. At 
once they take the most extreme course, and, like brute 
beasts, challenge each to single combat, or, what is far 
more monstrous than a mere animal struggle for victory, 
they arrange a duel, and, as if urged on by some evil 

Bk. V, Ch. IV] "THE WHOLE MAN DIES" 113 

genius, they either deprive each other of the most precious 
gift of life, or if one escape alive, he is still liable to 
the law's punishment, and rightly deserves it. How 
wretched must they be who leave so terrible a blot on the 
last page of their earthly existence as the utter destruction 
of a fellow-man in his very totality body, soul, and spirit ! l 

1 The Latin phrase universum hominem occidione occidere is a 
remarkable one, and contains very strong evidence for the Miltonic 
authorship, for Milton was the only man of learning and genius who 
held the strange and heretical view that the soul is naturally mortal, 
and dies or loses consciousness with the body. Milton's view was, 
" the whole man dies," and in his posthumous De Doctrina Christiana, 
c. xiii., this is unhesitatingly asserted and proved from Scripture 
at great length : when death comes upon a man, it comes upon him 
altogether ; no part escapes, and body, soul, and spirit are alike lifeless 
and insensible in the grave. Even in the stormy and fanatical 
religious excitement of Milton's age there were few who held such 
heterodoxy as this, and not till early in the nineteenth century, when 
the De Doctrina Christiana was so unexpectedly unearthed from the 
State Paper Office, did any suspicion arise that the illustrious Milton 
held the opinions of the obscure Soul-sleepers and Mortalists. But 
the treatise which he left in manuscript, and dedicated to the 
Christian world, put on record the sure fact that he lived and died in 
that unusual belief. Not indeed that he held it in every period of his 
life, for the fine religious rhapsodies which conclude his Lycidas 
(1637) and the Epitaphium Damonis (1639) show that in earlier life 
he was a devout believer in the heavenly joys of departed saints, and 
that he then could say with Horace, and in a higher sense than he : 

Non omnis moriar, multaque pars mei 
Vitabit Libitinam. 

But later in life, possibly about 1644, when he broke with the Presby- 
terians and inclined to the party of the Sectaries, there came a change 
o'er the spirit of his dream, and henceforth he held, and in his 
religious testament declared, that the soul of man is as naturally 
mortal as his body. Nova Solyma, as the author tells us in his 
Autocriticon at the end, had been revised by him just previous to 1648, 
and possibly this argument of the death of the whole man was then 
added. Between the date of the Epitaphium Damonis (1639) and 
Nova Solyma (1648) there had been two books published, certainly 
known to such an omnivorous reader as Milton viz. Man's 
Mortalitie ; or, a Treatise wherein 'tis proved both Theologically ana 
Philosophically that Whole Man is a Compound Wholly Mortal, etc., 
by R. O. (R. Overton, 1644); and The True Original of the Soule, 
etc., by H. W. (Henry Woolnor, 1641). Both these may have 
VOL. II. 8 


What opening is left for penitence, or reconciliation with 
God, when a man is cut off in the flower of his age by 
such a reckless and guilty deed ? In the dark Middle 
Ages certain men of barbarian tastes, who professed to be 
arbiters of what was brave and honourable, and Christians 
to boot, laid down the laws of duelling and fixed the 
gruesome ceremonies of it ; but in spite of that it is in 
direct opposition to all law and true social life, and 
certainly shows the want of sense in the public opinion on 
the subject. For who can rightly expect that the sword 
will justly decide that which a court of justice is unable to 
exactly determine? 

" To us it seems a pure delusion to throw ourselves and 
our cause on God's Providence in wager of battle, when 
neither Nature nor the Deity has sanctioned anything of 
the kind. True, we sometimes settle our disputes by 
casting lots ; but this is bloodless enough, and is only 
done for convenience in sharing things, or in a sportive 
way, to arrive at a conclusion. We know it is a matter 
of mere chance, and we are ready to take the result in 
that view. 1 

influenced Milton's very independent judgment. In any case, the 
strong point remains that the anonymous author of Nova Solyma, a 
most accomplished Latinist both in prose and poetry, held an unusual 
and novel opinion, almost universally execrated, and accepted by no 
one of any literary eminence except Milton. There are tokens of it in 
Paradise Lost, x. 782-93, but no one noticed them. 

1 Milton was in favour of the practice of casting lots as being com- 
monly used in both the Old Testament and the New Testament. He 
gives all the texts in DC Doctrina Christiana, c. v. Puritans often had 
recourse to this superstitious act, as we deem it now. And nearer to 
our days, at the beginning of the great Wesleyan movement, there was 
a very curious appeal to a " decision by lot " which, as not generally 
known, may be worth recording : 

"A question arose, after Mr. Wesley's death, whether the Methodist 
preachers had any Scriptural authority to administer the Holy Com- 
munion. The question was decided by lot, and the Conference wrote 
as follows : ' To the Members of our Societies who desire to receive 
the Lord's Supper from the hands of their own preachers. Very dear 
Brethren, The Conference desire us to write to you, in their name, in 
the most tender and affectionate manner, and to inform you 01 the 
event of their deliberations concerning the administration of the Lord's 


" We abolish duelling on the ground that it is an un- 
lawful way of deciding any dispute, even if the dispute is 
perfectly justifiable. We hold a duellist in worse repute 
than a hangman, for one acts against the authority of the 
State, and the other upholds it. If a man is killed in a 
duel, we hold it to be legally a case of felo de se, and the 
survivor is hanged with his heels upwards as a symbol of 
his preposterous attempt to overturn justice. If both 
escape with their lives, they still do not escape punishment, 
for they are branded with a mark of ignominy so that all 
men can see it, and avoid them as they would dangerous, 
goring beasts. 1 Moreover, this stigma tends to take away 
any false conceit of their bravery or honour, and any one 
who dares to praise them is considered an accessory after 
the fact. By these laws we keep down acts of injustice, 
and eradicate from public opinion some very foolish ideas 
about personal honour. I, if a man challenge me unlaw- 
fully, absolutely refuse to meet him ; nothing shall make 
me do it : let him call me a coward if he will ; let him tell 
every one he sees ; let him send forth libels and caricatures 

Supper. After debating the subject time after time, we were greatly 
divided in sentiment. In short, we knew not what to do, that peace 
and union might be preserved. At last, one of the senior brethren, 
Mr. Pawson, proposed that we should commit the matter to God by 
putting the question to the lot, considering the Oracles of God declare 
that the lot causes contentions to cease, and parteth between the 
mighty. And, again, " that the lot is cast into the lap ; but the whole 
disposing thereof is of the Lord." And considering, also, that we have 
the examples of the Apostles themselves in a matter which, we 
thought, all things considered, of less importance ! We accordingly 
prepared the lots ; and four of us prayed. God was surely then 
present yea, His Glory filled the room. Almost all the preachers 
were in tears, and, as they afterwards confessed, felt an undoubted 
assurance that God Himself would decide. Mr. Adam Clarke was 
then called on to draw the lot, which was, " You shall not administer 
the Sacrament the ensuing year." All were satisfied ; all submitted. 
Every countenance seemed to testify that every heart said, " It is the 
Lord ; let Him do what seemeth Him good ' " (Appendix to Bishop 
Blomfield's Sermons). 

1 A somewhat similar ludicrous and ignominious punishment is 
awarded for duelling in the German Utopia The Kingdom of Ophir, 
1699. See Bibliography. 


broadcast, it is nothing to me. I feel the very greatest 
coward when I am asked to commit a wrong action. I 
confess it without shame, yea, I glory in it." 

" Ah ! " interposed Politian, " but it all depends whether 
the State is inclined to shield a man's private character 
from insult or not. Some States take no cognisance 
of private quarrels or personal honour ; therefore, a man 
must defend himself." 

" No," replied Joseph ; " if a man were allowed to make 
a law for himself wherever he thought the established 
laws insufficient, you might just as well have no laws 
at all ; and certainly no one has a right to judge his 
own case, or to avenge himself in this way, life against 
life, and least of all a professed Christian. With us, our 
censors look into all these matters, and private reputation, 
and have charge of them. 

"As for public and national honours, we esteem them 
to be the greatest rewards the State can give, and we 
are careful to distribute them with strict impartiality, and 
never lavishly. To our soldiers especially, who risk their 
lives for their country, and to those wise counsellors who 
in State affairs have given timely help, we award these 
highest honours, and to them alone. 

" The virtues of simplicity, temperance, and justice 
have their own inherent glory, and are their own reward. 
But there is not in them that lustre and brilliant radiance 
we connect with the idea of true nobility. Now, just as 
our worst characters are branded with the stigma of 
infamy, so are our most noble ones adorned with badges 
and orders of honour. These honours, too, are hereditary, 
and we make them so for the parents' sake, that the 
children may be educated up to their position, and pos- 
sibly inherit the ancestral virtues ; but we make this 
condition, that our expectations should be in some 
degree realised, or at least never upset by a thoroughly 
unworthy or wicked life, for a mere title, apart from 
personal merit, we reckon to be as foolish and ridiculous 
a distinction as many consider mere rank to be, when it 
has no money behind it ; nor do we permit our families 


with long pedigrees to credit themselves on their remote 
ancestors we only give them credit for what they do 
themselves. 1 

" We do not despise the parvenus, for many a one 
has, likely enough, done as much for the good of the 
State in his single person as a dozen or more of the 
pedigree-family stamp ; so we give the new-comer an 
order of nobility adequate to his deeds. 

" If long pedigree be the only criterion, we should 
be equal, for we all derive from Adam and from Noah. 
If the accident of our birth is to decide, again we should 
be equal, for our soul, the best and highest part of us, 
is of Divine origin, and originally came from God. When 
our nobles wear in public the insignia of their orders, it is 
the public custom for ordinary people to yield the road 
to them at once with all courtesy. In the same degree 
of nobility, priority of creation has the precedence ; among 
the nobles' families the dignity of the clan is considered. 

" But honours and titles may never be abused for public 
harm, and overweening pride and disdain is to be always 
reprimanded. For the real glory of nobility does not 
arise from terrible and stirring deeds, nor yet from 
tyrannical power, but from the shedding of a good in- 
fluence everywhere, and from that copious flowing forth 
in daily life of all the higher qualities which mark a 
true gentleman. 

" I do not esteem Caesar worthy of such honours ; in 
my opinion he is neither truly brave nor truly happy. 
Has he not treated that magnificent Republic under whose 
laws and institutions he was brought up from his birth 
onwards as the empty sound of a name only? and has 
he not gone near to make it so ? Nor can that brave 
thoroughness of his, which is generally accounted among 
the good points of a man, successfully contend with 
patriotism and justice ; for is it not a mark of temerity 
and violence, or of something yet worse, to dare to attempt 

1 Similar views occur in that early and rare Utopia the Commen- 
tariolus de Eudaentonensium Republicd of Caspar Stiblin. See 


that which must result in deep regret ? Nay, is it not 
the highest pitch of unhappiness to continually persist 
in upholding the worst of deeds to its bitter end ? 

" I hold him to be the greatest possible expert in the 
arts of tyranny, 1 since he is the cleverest in making 
people believe that he possesses a liberal and merciful 
spirit combined with a keen and vigorous intellect. I 
am indeed surprised that any Christian people should 
hold the opinion that the greatest public enemy 2 the 
country has is surrounded with some mysterious halo 
of glory and fame an opinion more iniquitous, surely, 
than Cato held. 3 

" Believe me, my friends, we make no advance to any 
good purpose, unless we bring into our every-day life 
and habits a clear distinction and understanding con- 
cerning what is rightfully to be praised and blamed. I 
do not mean a mere wordy rigmarole of philosophical 
casuistry, but a good practical knowledge engrained in 
the very texture of our minds. Wherefore I would that 
ye throw off such outward trappings and false adornments 
of that which is wrong, and gaze wholly on the undis- 
guised face of what is right and true." 

After this Joseph induced them to embrace each other, 
and to promise to lay aside any feelings of ill will, and 
so they all separated. 

1 " But he who, without the pledge and earnest of suitable deeds, 
can be persuaded of a zeal and true righteousness in the person 
[of King Charles I.] hath much yet to learn ; and knows not that 
the deepest policy of a tyrant hath been ever to counterfeit religion " 
(Milton, Eikonoklastes, p. 325, Bohn). 

* Lat. perduellis. 

3 Of the many opinions of Cato the Censor, I am not sure which 
particular one was in Milton's mind in this connection, but I think 
it would be most likely that remark about kings which Cato made 
when Eumenes II., King of Pergamus, first came to Rome on a visit, 
and was received with very great respect by the Senate. Cato was 
indignant at what he considered too great servility and expense, 
and would not take any part in the entertainment, declaring that 
"kings were naturally carnivorous animals." This would be less 
objectionable, in Milton's opinion, than the semi-blasphemous assertion 
of quasi-deification 


FOR some days Politian and Eugenius avoided each 
other, and were often in deep thought on the 
disgrace they had brought on themselves, and if Joseph 
had not occasionally thrown in a word in season, un- 
doubtedly their thoughts would have prompted them to 
suicide. They both began to look ill, nor could they 
interchange glances with the two girls or with each other 
without an inward feeling of shame. 

However, by degrees they began to take a brighter 
view and to show signs of true regret, and when Joseph 
saw this, he began to encourage their fallen spirits, and, 
as a change and relief, persuaded them with some difficulty 
to come with him and hear another public lecture. 

When they arrived at the hall it was not quite time 
for the proceedings to begin, so they walked up and 
down in the portico, where Joseph, to fill up the time 
suitably, took out a little book, and asked Eugenius if 
he would like to hear a few portions from the Book of 
Wisdom which he had turned into Latin verse. 

Joseph read on for some little time, making occasionally 
brief comments ; then he paused to listen for the sound 
of the students taking their seats inside, and finding there 
was still a little time left, he turned over some pages 
and read another part towards the end, and then lent 
the book to Eugenius to finish reading at his leisure. 1 

They now went into the hall, where Joseph found 
them good seats, and while they were discussing the 
subject of the lecture, which on this occasion was A 

1 See Appendix of Latin poems ; we have here 164 lines of Alcaics. 



Well-regulated Mind, and how to acquire if, the lecturer 
ascended his rostrum, and in a quiet, serious manner 
thus began his discourse : 

" To acquire the position of a ruler among men one 
must begin by ruling himself that is the first great 
requisite ; then he must be able to rule his household ; 
and then, eventually, if called upon, he may be equal 
to ruling the State. But if a man is inexperienced, and 
unfit to fufil the first two requisites, he will never rightly 
attain to the political prudence required for the last. 
Often enough there have been men in the highest positions 
in the State, who were men of philosophic culture, and 
equally successful in peace or war ; and then, again, there 
have been others, who being in the same position, and 
equally fitted by nature for holding it, yet, from the defect 
I have mentioned, have never learnt to restrain the anger, 
the lust, or the overweening pride that was in them, or 
to use the curb of self-government, and learn by experi- 
ence what really constitutes justice and true strength of 
character. The consequence is, that these latter fall to 
pieces, as it were, if fortune seems against them, or are 
vainly elated if the fickle goddess smiles ; in fact, they 
are wholly her slaves, and being without the rudder of 
a well-regulated mind, they are often totally wrecked in 
the sea of their passions. 

" Our soul, being within us, out of sight, and elusive, 
is a difficult thing to study, and even more so to manage, 
whether we want it to be clothed with the habit of virtue 
or deprived of the seeds of vice. Many look upon it 
as scarcely more than an airy, shadowless ghost, an un- 
substantial entity, or else, feeling that its will is irresistible, 
allow it to rage and change without restraint. But the 
heart of a wise man is under his own control, and he 
can mould and alter it even as a workman can fashion 
with his strong right hand the material beneath it. Now, 
it is our mind which is our guardian angel, our good or 
evil genius, and on the right use of the mind, so philo- 
sophers have always said, depends our chief happiness. 
The soul is always coupled with a gross body, but it can 


hold imperial sway over its corporeal partner, and rise 
to universal rule ; it can hold its own against all bodily 
attacks from without, and can protect and preserve itself 
and its possessions as if in an independent world. So 
said the old philosophers, and they made the discipline 
of the soul almost a religion, and so far the Word of God 
bears them out ; but from Revelation we know, what the 
philosophers least of all imagined, that man is by nature 
corrupt, fallen, and unable to raise himself to God, though 
he has still left to him somewhat of his original justice, 
strength, and nobleness of mind. Wherefore we should 
remember how much we have to depend on God's assisting 
grace, and that we should attempt nothing without His 
propitious guidance ; for should God give us a distempered 
spirit of fury, or madness, or remorse, who could with- 
stand it? Could the best regulated mind, could the most 
extreme perseverance or endurance, fight against that 
Power who can rule the very character of our minds ? So 
I think the philosophers of old boasted too arrogantly of 
their discipline of the soul, and forgot the soul's subjection 
to a higher Power. 

"In considering the mind as a kingdom that we have 
to govern, we should begin by looking at our own 
privileges and dignity as rulers of it It is a kingdom 
that is our private possession, and we hold it on the 
freest of terms, -with a strong sense of true dignity. Of 
course, we all give social reverence and obedience to people 
in authority, according to the usual custom generally 
sanctioned, and nothing is more seemly than such willing 
and reasonable service. This is the kind of service God 
asks of us, nor does He order us to worship Him in any 
other way. A cringing and forced submission is not 
acceptable in His sight Nor is this dignity of character 
inconsistent with or opposed to Christian humility, for 
this last Christian virtue is really a sense of shame at 
the great fall from our first estate, and this begets a 
desire in us to recover the native dignity we have lost, 
and so the two apparent extremes of character are found 
to be harmoniously consistent If, too, we are ordered 


to keep the vessels of our bodies in sanctification and 
honour, how much the more ought this to be so with 
our ethereal minds! 

"True humility is variously exhibited according to 
circumstances, but always consistently with its character. 
As for the so-called humility that loves to suffer reproach 
and revels in loathsome degradations, never caring to 
lift itself into the regions of beauty and art, this is to be 
vile rather than humble. 

" What the worldlings call honour or glory l is a vain 
and misleading quality. It is generally swollen with self- 
pride and the conceit of popular favour ; it serves no 
purpose but its own interest, and its work is summed up 
in self-laudation. 

" But the magnanimity of a Christian is something very 
different, in that it has a burning desire for all that is 
most truly honourable and praiseworthy ; and as for the 
honour and glory that may arise, all this is given to God. 
This noble-mindedness I speak of is the most effective 
spur for all that is good, and a restraining bit for all 
that is bad. We ought to cultivate it and preserve it 
as something sacred and heavenly. For this reason, 
Scripture describes foul deeds in unreserved terms, so 
that this feeling may be excited in us. 

" Wherefore we should abhor secret sins no less than 
those public ones which bring open shame upon us, not 
only for conscience' sake, but for the sake of our self- 
respect ; 2 for whosoever shall lose or lessen this last 

1 Milton had no esteem for glory, especially of the military kind, 
and addresses Fairfax thus : " Thou hast conquered ' glory,' too, 
which is wont to conquer the best of mortals " (Defensio pro se, iii. 
1 08, ed. 1698, fol.). 

* These views of self-respect and self-command here and elsewhere 
brought forward in this book are highly Miltonic. Walter Bagehot, 
in his Literary Studies, ii. 177, says : " The whole being of Milton may 
in some sort be summed up in the great command of the austere 
character, ' Reverence thyself.' " 

Milton no doubt had read Bacon's New Atlantis, for it would com- 
mend itself to him as a romance of the same Utopian class as his own. 
It had an imaginary model republic called Bensalem, and there were 


great virtue has fallen from the throne of self-command, 
and can no longer be called his own master. For he 
who sins in this way commits high treason against him- 
self. Matters of a ludicrous and frivolous nature should 
be treated in a seemly and cautious manner, for there 
is no doubt that our common human nature has a little 
in it both of the fool and the beast To the fool we 
must give the horse-laugh, and the silly joke, and all 
unsavoury words and deeds ; to the beast the animal 
passions and impulses that possess us. The austere mind 
should be itself a very temple of prudence. Boorishness, 
and the neglect of ordinary forms and ceremonies, often 
are causes of a sordid, unwholesome way of living ; while 
a prurient delicacy seems worse to me than an outspoken, 
sober discussion of a forbidden subject 

" Having thus set up the Throne of our government, 
let us next go on to the Council Chamber and the Senate. 

" Our mind is to be improved by the deepest meditation, 
and enriched by far-reaching knowledge ; for he who 

Jews among the inhabitants, and it was a Jew who explained to the 
visitors to New Atlantis that the usual saying there was : " Whoso- 
ever is unchaste cannot reverence himself"; and they add "that the 
reverence of a Man's Selfe is, next to Religion, the chiefest bridle 
of all vices." The New Atlantis is only a fragment, first published 
in 1627, when Milton had been at Cambridge about two years, but is 
a striking piece of literature, and, as one of Bacon's best biographers 
(Edwin A. Abbot) says : " Bacon has put into it perhaps more of his 
own self, his tastes, his preferences, his ideals, than into any other 
of his writings." It may have helped to suggest Nova Solyma, and 
I shall be indeed gratified if Nova Solyma shall be ever considered 
to bear the same relation to the philosophy and religion of John 
Milton as Nova Atlantis bears to the philosophy and philanthropia 
of Francis Bacon. A glow of satisfaction comes when I think some- 
times that it may be so. For if there are any among my illustrious 
countrymen that I admire beyond the rest, it is John Milton and 
Francis Bacon ; and I endorse every line of the eloquent eulogy which 
has been pronounced on the latter by one who knew him, so to speak, 
by heart. Of Bacon he said : " With him knowledge alone had no 
satiety ; in age when ' the Loves are changed into the Graces ' he 
still ran the race as in the heyday of youth, never feeling the 
weariness of Faust, and only at times the ' suave mari magno.' 
His philosophy has its concrete presentation in the New Atlantis 


knows many subjects deeply has gained for himself a 
goodly share of that intellectual world which is man's 
most real possession. We should let our minds dwell 
on the representations of all that is best and fairest, 
but our aims should be limited by our opportunities and 

" Especially has the mind need of right judgment, lest, 
being led aside by the opinions of the crowd, we should 
come to the false conclusion that splendid sins are to 
be reckoned among a man's good qualities, and so forge 
chains of. slavery for ourselves. 

"There are many things which nearly every one looks at 
as if through spectacles. Sometimes they are magnifying 
glasses, and very powerful ones ; such we use when viewing 
our own merits or other people's demerits, or when we 
examine miracles, prodigies, horrible news, and other 
wonders of the outside world. Sometimes our spectacles 
make things look less ; for instance, such as our own 

that rises from the sea, like Prospero's isle, the most practical and 
amongst the most poetic of the anticipations of the future. An 
allegory of his fragmentary work, it is amongst torsos the most 
beautiful ; and, in closing the record of his varied life, we linger on 
the sound of the sea rippling by its richly coloured shore. Its detail 
may be faulty ; its design is prophetic ; nor in Plato or Augustine, 
nor in More or Sidney, in Campanella or Milton, is there so much 
sympathy with the increasing purpose of man's thought and will " 
(Professor John Nichol : Francis Bacon, his Life and Philosophy. 
Blackwood, 1889). 

Here is praise indeed, nor is it undeserved. The wonder is that a 
short, unfinished, Utopian fragment should be worthy of it. But we 
must remember how great a man it was that put into that little 
fragment so much of himself. I was both glad and surprised to see 
Milton coupled in this eulogy with the few great writers of Utopias, 
and placed in the same class with the famous authors of the Civitas 
Dei, the Civitas Solis, and the Republic. How Professor Nichol came 
to include Milton among the chief imaginers of ideal states I cannot 
tell : it looks like prophetic insight, for it certainly was not on account 
of Nova Solyma. But if he has so deservedly praised that unfinished 
fragment the Nova Atlantis, what, I wonder, would he have thought 
of the carefully finished Nova Solyma, its episodes, its lyrics, its 
consistent standard of high purity, and that Bridal Song of Divine 
Love which rounds off and ends the book? 


faults, or favours received, or an enemy before he advances, 
and to these must be added the way we look at real 
merit and true wisdom, and the hidden mysteries of our 
nature. All these appear to us of less import than they 
really are. 

" To avoid these misjudgments, we should be on guard 
not to be carried away by first impressions. We must 
never idolise or pin our faith upon mere human authority. 
We should try all things, and hold fast to those that are 
best. Many such like maxims may we find in all parts 
of Holy Writ. Next to God's Word we should study 
the most famous writings of Greece and Rome, that from 
a careful consideration of their contents we may know 
what is rightly commendable. Let nothing be accepted 
without search and examination, but when accepted, let 
it be duly placed in the treasure-house of our memory. 

" The man who can rule himself is the greatest of all 
commanders, and practice makes perfect, here as else- 
where. Therefore continually practise this self-government, 
even in the most trivial matters, for the least loosening 
of the reigns of control may make a firm command no 
easy matter to regain. For instance, you may play at 
draughts for love only, and yet the desire of winning and 
getting the advantage over your rival may make you so 
relax your self-command that when you lose your game 
you often lose your temper as well, to the great amuse- 
ment of the lookers-on. Somewhat similar is it in the 
more important game of Life ; if anyone through excite- 
ment or rashness breaks through his needful self-restraint, 
he will find it very difficult to recover his lost ground, 
and will often come to grief utterly. Therefore I say, obey 
the rules you lay down for yourself more implicitly even 
than if they were laws with the King's sanction, and, like 
an athlete, keep always in training and practice. Do not 
forget that we can modify our natural disposition. Socrates 
was ugly that could not be mended ; his disposition was 
not naturally good, but by self-control he made it so. All 
who really try meet with success ; it is the slothful and 
self-indulgent who fail. 


" The control I speak of is of special service in regulating 
our passions. I say ' regulating ' advisedly, for those who 
would utterly root out our animal desires are like men who 
would cut their own throats, and, being sentinels of the 
body, desert their post. Our passions, indeed, affect our 
minds just as winds affect a ship. If the breezes are 
genial and moderated, the ship sails gallantly on ; but 
when they are turbulent and contrary, there is a constant 
risk of being wrecked. And so it is with ourselves. 

"We are not to forget, moreover, how it is we differ 
from the whole animal creation. They must needs be 
ruled by their passions and desires, whilst we have the 
option of being ourselves the rulers. How, then, ought 
we not strictly to keep down the animal instincts well 
under the continual yoke of our reason ? For our own 
well-being we must treat our passions as circumstances 
demand ; we must defeat their advances, and make a 
mock of them lest they mock us. The passions of brute 
beasts, not being subject to reason, are restricted within 
certain limits by the power of Nature herself. They 
have a limit which they cannot pass. But man, if he 
lose his self-control, rushes headlong to far greater depths, 
being drawn irresistibly to the bottomless whirlpool of 
a lust far worse than theirs. 

"The baneful passions of our human nature, such as 
anger, fear, and grief, often afford us a certain perverse 
kind of pleasure, and are very hard to eradicate altogether. 
They are our torturers, and we should very rarely give 
them indulgence, and then only in subjection to reason, 
and the utmost care should be used not to allow them 
to exceed the bounds of what is just and seemly and 
sufficient, for it is utter madness to incur injury and ruin 
on their account, when we can have the upper hand over 
them if we choose. 

" As to our more innocent desires, such as the pleasures 
of the table, our hopes, our joys, their enticement is more 
quiet and gradual, but they have their victories over us 
nevertheless, and many who have faced danger and death 
heedlessly often fall victims here. As to the good things 


the bounty of Nature gives to us, we should use them 
with frugality and moderation, for thus alone is the 
pleasure that accrues best enjoyed. So with a fragrant 
flower one brief and balmy waft of its scent is far 
more delicate and enjoyable than the heavy, overpowering 
vapour that comes from its expressed essence. And what 
madness to turn these propitious passions into armed foes, 
for joys and hopes, when frustrate of their intent, pain 
us more than our worst enemies ; and yet few seem to 
know what ought and what ought not to be objects of 
hope and joy. Above all must we be on our guard against 
first impressions, which are so difficult to change. And 
we should remember that all things, good or evil, here 
below are only vanity of vanities compared with the joys 
of Heaven and the torments of Hell. 

" Lastly, the best remedy for those who fall in the fight 
for self-control is to rise with obstinate determination 
against the tyranny of the passions, and resolutely, once 
for all, throw off their chains. They who can do that 
show they have that excellent gift, a consciousness of 
personal freedom! 

"There is another faculty of the mind, which we call 
Imagination, and this plays no small part in our daily life. 
It is a faculty quick and versatile, but unstable, full of 
mimicry and quibbling, a pragmatical droll who imposes 
upon and deceives our other senses, and is the cause of 
endless anxiety and trouble. As if by some strange 
chymick art, it presents to us all we can see or hear under 
a form both untrustworthy and false. It strikes us like a 
flash of lightning and sets our mind all aflame, and urges 
us on to the rashest and maddest acts. It upsets our 
mental balance, and leaves a restless interregnum where 
reason had ruled before, and hence it often happens that 
men wide awake, and in the light of day, act as if in a 
delirious dream. Whosoever has this faculty uncontrolled, 
however cultured and able he may be, can never be a 
truly great and complete man. 

" But the worst quality of the phantastical man is that 
from a depraved habit of thought he is the likeliest of 


all to scoff and jeer at religion, and on no subject are 
jokes so free and acceptable as on this ; and therefore 
many perish from their own imaginations treating the 
sacred majesty of truth in a freakish and illusive way. 
To cure this habit in a man is very hard indeed, for the 
faculty is so constantly on the move that you cannot track 
it down, so slippery that it passes through the fingers of 
him who would hold and heal it ; its deceptions are such 
that sometimes even the most careful and prudent base 
their opinions on its false presentations ; and, lastly, its 
evil power is such that even sober-minded people with 
difficulty restrain their laughter when they see the odd 
mischances or loose behaviour of their fellows. 

" I should call him wellnigh perfect who could hold his 
imagination under full control. Wherefore this faculty 
should always be kept employed at good, honest work, 
busy with the best thoughts, so that the vain and foolish 
ones have less chance to enter. If wanton ideas do 
present themselves and assault the soul, they must be 
received with firmly closed eyes ; and if they persist, we 
must flee from them to quiet, studious work, and to the 
contemplation of things more estimable. Change of scene 
and change of surroundings are both excellent helps. 

" But there is the body as well as the mind, and these 
mutually act and react on eacMother. We must not omit 
the consideration of this. 

" It is partly by reason of bodily constitution that one 
man is strong and another temperate. The man of bilious 
temperament delights in violent action and endeavour ; 
you might say he was born for the arena. He cannot 
easily restrain his anger or strong passions. He of a 
melancholy turn is for ever meditating on sacred and lofty 
themes, as if he were in God's house ; he is subject also 
to a dismal fear and anxiety which seem to possess him. 
The phlegmatic temperament is the farthest of all from 
courage and action. It seems to be tired out with the 
squalor of its prison-house, and bound down by the 
chains of sluggishness. Those who have the sanguine 
nature are most at home at court or on the stage ; to 


them the outlook of life is bright and full of varied 

" When we know what our bodily temperament is, we 
should always try to adapt our mind to it in such a 
way as best to tone down each into better harmony ; and 
although we may not be able to alter such things as 
ruddiness and pallor, or to stop the sighs and groans and 
other indications of bodily sensation, still, we need not 
allow them to affect our mind. Nay, the more we try to 
put out of thoughts our bodily ailments, the more shall 
we succeed, for every resolute diversion of our thoughts, 
especially if we have made a habit of doing so, will take 
away or considerably deaden the bodily sense. 

" Last of all, as a beautiful body is the most ornate 
vesture that the soul can have, so a well-regulated and 
temperate body is the best home, and as such it deserves 
the utmost care and attention ; and the whole man, body 
and soul, should be so ordered that, like a perfect machine 
thoroughly wound up, he may be ready with every nerve 
and limb that he can use to serve God, to help his 
country, and to save himself." 




r I ^HE lecture being over, Joseph, who had somewhere 
to go, asked Politian to wait with Eugenius in 
the cloisters, for he would soon be back. So they went 
there, and Eugenius passed away the time by reading 
a version of David's lament for Saul and Jonathan 
(2 Sam. i. 19) in Latin lyrics. 1 When this was finished, 
Politian resumed the subject of the lecture, which was 
really uppermost in his mind. 

" Ah," said he, " how very unfortunate we have been 
not to hear and attend to such good advice before we 
acted as we did ! Certainly nothing is more worthy of 
a true man than to rule himself. All other privileges 
of power, and the most exquisite delights the world can 
give, are in vain, unless this inward composure be there 
as well." 

At this point they hear footsteps behind them, and, 
turning round, find that Joseph had rejoined them, and 
was expressing his pleasure that they had thought the 
lecture profitable enough for comment. To whom Politian 
replied : " To see one's countenance reflected in a mirror 
is often a pleasure in its way ; but surely a far greater 

1 Here follow thirty-two lines of Latin Iambics (trimeter and 
dimeter). The Latin poem is an almost word-for-word rendering, 
like Milton's English Psalms. A Latin verse rendering of this same 
dirge has been attempted by M. Maittaire (Senilta, p. 8), but much 
inferior. This would be included in " those frequent songs throughout 
the Law and the Prophets" Milton speaks of as a literary project which 
he had been contemplating. See Introduction, p. 10. 



one is for a man to see the very image of his mind truly 
presented before him. The lecturer had no more eager 
and willing listeners than ourselves." 

This remark led Joseph to pursue the subject. 

"It is a true saying," said he, "that a philosophic 
composure of mind is, in all our troubles, the one earthly 
thing that brings back happiness and proves to be a 
physician for every woe. 1 

" Nor is this great good confined to the man himself, 
but it flows forth like a fountain of living water for the 
general benefit of those around. It is, too, the best 
peacemaker, and begets mutual love and good feeling ; 
while, on the contrary, a restless and disturbed mind 
prevents the right effect of all our duties, both earthly 
and heavenly, is a self-tormentor and a stumbling-block 
to all with whom we have to do." 

It being not yet quite dusk, Joseph suggested another 
turn or two before they went home, and further opened 
the subject thus. 

"There are three kinds of snares in which our minds 
are especially liable to be caught, and they are all the 
more dangerous because they are so closely connected 
with our daily life, and cannot possibly be altogether 

" First, the vain, deluding joys which are wont to bring 
their blandishments around our early youth. 

" Next, the ambitious desire of a great name, which 
chiefly shows itself in our middle and later prime. 

" The last is that love of money which in old age 
often becomes avarice, but is, in its degree, a snare 
throughout the whole life, though it be so often en- 
couraged. Indeed, nearly all the world speaks well of 
it, and the few that do occasionally condemn it seldom 
act according to their precepts. To have an eye to the 
main chance, as it is called, is approved of as the mark 

1 No one would describe the philosophy of Nova Solyma as 
Horatian, but in this passage it endorses my favourite Horatian 
maxim : 

Quod petis, hie est : 
Est Ulubris, animus si te non deficit aequus. 


of a prudent and careful man. The parents praise it, 
the wives encourage it, the children glory in it. Every 
one seems intent upon making money, and even to heap 
it up avariciously is not condemned. 

"And yet this money-making pest is a most fertile 
source of all kinds of evil. For instance, if we think 
we have a fair chance of coming into any property, or 
being mentioned in the will, how officiously polite we 
can be! how meanly obsequious! what wonderful pro- 
mises and vows we can make ! And yet, what does it all 
amount to often enough ? A mere self-interested false 

"But you will say, perhaps, that this money-making helps 
to support private and public life. No ; on the contrary, 
I hold that it is a disturbing influence. The true money- 
maker spares neither friends nor relations, neither wife 
nor children, not even himself, if he sees a chance of 
adding to his gold. All this excessive wealth is a product 
of the labour of the poor, and depends upon it. It is 
not the mind that requires these things, for the mind 
neither hungers nor thirsts, nor has it to pay the doctor's 
bill : it is the body that is such an expensive glutton, 
and such a bad and hard master as well ; it is the body 
that commands us to come and go with all speed on 
its behests, to suffer toil and danger and work ourselves 
almost to death, all for its sake. Hence the great 
attention given to the mechanical arts, to the neglect 
of pure science and culture. The great mass of mankind, 
weighed down with this great burden, have to spend 
the whole of their life in procuring the necessities of 
living, nor is their life much above that of mere animals. 
Therefore the man who receives an ample inheritance 
from his parents, which frees him from these toils, and 
leaves him open to engage in worthier work, holds a 
position that one may well wish to have, and he should 
indeed make the best use of it. 1 

"The two things that eat up so much money are food 

1 Milton's own case, and his very sentiments in many places of his 


and dress. In Nova Solyma we take good precautions 
about these: rank and dignity is not accompanied by 
costly apparel or a large and varied wardrobe, but by 
certain well-known emblems of office ; we live simply 
and unaffectedly, and luxury is subject to public censure. 
With us there is no necessity to heap up riches, and in 
consequence we do not desire it. He who wastes the 
means he has inherited, or, as is less likely, acquired by 
himself, is obliged to send in his accounts not only to 
his creditors, but to the public censors. 

"We have the same frugal mind in regard to funerals 
and festivals, for we consider all sumptuous burial rites 
as fines coming out of the pockets of the people concerned ; 
and as for public displays, if the nobles and principal 
citizens cannot afford to supply the money, and are only 
shamed into it by custom, we think we are better without 
them they are vanity. And so, to be free from the 
tyranny of custom, we passed a law against them, for 
we knew that if we took away occasions for pomp and 
ceremony, and produced a change of opinion about such 
things, one very great fosterer of the love of money would 
be destroyed. Temperate and careful men are able to 
live contentedly on a modest sufficiency, and old men 
and misers on even less than that. It is the careless 
squanderers who cannot get on without plenty of money. 

"Arts and crafts and husbandry are nowhere more 
diligently practised than with us. What is genuinely 
useful we keep for home consumption ; the more showy 
articles we export to foreign nations, even as beads and 
toys are bartered to savages. As for the old-fashioned 
thriftiness, which is such a foe to extravagance, and the 
nurse of the manly virtues as well as the extinguisher 
of riotous living, we hold it in great esteem, and we 
think the real use of money consists in the just expen- 
diture of it for simple necessaries. A thoroughly good 
master of the house is really open-handed, not like the 
spendthrifts who for a short time are recklessly liberal ; he 
is duly and constantly liberal all his life long, and leaves 
the means of being liberal to those who succeed him. 


" God, who devised l all things from nothing, wishes 
nothing to be annihilated ; but he who dissipates his 
means, though he cannot absolutely destroy his property, 
quite annihilates the use it is meant to serve. 

"Thriftiness also shows us the bright side 2 of money- 
making, for whatever expenses are honestly cut down 
without meanness may be reckoned as so much money 
made. But a thrift that is sordid and filthy we abominate, 
and next to the absolute necessities of life we value, 
cleanliness and neatness. Dust is the serpent's meat, 
and to dust we all one day return ; such is God's penal 

"Especially do we hold it a disgraceful crime to show 
a grasping stinginess of disposition without a particle of 
liberality in it, for there is no truer duty and stronger 
bond in human society than mutual acts of unselfish 
kindness. The wildest beasts show it at breeding-time 
to their mates and to their young, and that human being 
can have no true conception of eternity who neglects his 
own offspring. And this unselfish love should be extended 
to relatives and neighbours and, so to speak, to all men, 
for that man is not a true member of the brotherhood 
of man who holds any human being an alien or without 
the pale 3 of brotherly love. What is asked of us for 
the poor is God's tribute-money, and He has willed 
that the poor shall be ever with us as His tax-gatherers. 4 
The Middle Ages of Christendom, holding the merit of 
works of supererogation, turned this great virtue into a 
yet greater abuse, and in later times this abuse became 
a ready pretext for ceasing to practise such an expensive 
virtue. We, however, neither try to make bargains with 
God, nor, with the example before us of the Master's 
love for His brethren, dare we show a want of love for 
the Master's servants. We consider that whatever is 
properly spent for such purposes is not so much really 

1 Finxit. Milton avoids the word "create from nothing " over and 
over again in Nova Sofyma. 

* Lat. alterant paginam "paginam utramque facit fortuna" (Pliny). 
3 The Latin is exors. * Publicani, 


spent as laid up for us where no earthly risks can 
rob us of it in the treasure-chambers of heaven." 

With such discourse the dusk drew on, and they started 
for home. On that night Joseph was too full of thought 
to sleep, and so, in the quiet solitude of his chamber, he 
composed the following address to the Deity, and next 
day he recited it to his two friends. 

O God, who, as a sower, 1 spread on high 
The countless stars o'er all the eternal sky, 
My King, my Father, hear me when I cry. 

Now has the chariot of the setting sun 
Sunk with his horses 'neath the western waves, 
And Night's pale Queen is gliding on her way. 
Now, too, the rising stars peep out and light 
With their bright eyes the blue-black vault of Heaven. 
A sudden stillness holds both earth and air : 
The sea is lulled ; the birds have gone to roost ; 
And beasts and men repair their toil with sleep, 
Resting their limbs. Now issues forth the wolf 
From many a wood, and howls throughout the dark, 
And dogs of evil omen bark without. 
Ill-boding birds now leave their secret haunts, 
And fill the air with gruesome nightly cries, 
Responding each to each in dirgeful 2 tones. 
Then Fear and Panic, Fright and Tumult blind 
Hold sway, while Craft and Silence creep along. 
Now Lust and murd'rous Hate that shun the light 
Both have their will, for Night is lone and dark. 
Next Hell sends forth a filthy, impish tribe, 
While baneful spectres wander up and down, 
And shrieks and groans re-echo through the air. 3 
Anon there seems at hand a lurid throng 
Par. Lost, xii. 644. With dreadful faces and with fiery arms. 

1 Paradise Lost, vii. 358 : 

And sowed with stars the Heaven, thick as a field. 

2 Lat. feralis, a word used before in Nova Solyma, and by Milton 
in his Latin poem On the Fifth of November at line 1 53. In later 
editions of Eikon Basilike, p. 126, " ferall " is changed to " fatal,'' 
lest the unusual word should betray the author, or editor, whom I 
take to be Gauden. 

3 See Excursus L for a remarkable parallel passage from Milton's 
youthful composition where the same horrors of night are strikingly 


Tis now the conscience ol an ill-spent life 

Blanches the cheek and makes the blood run cold ; 

To lie on sumptuous couch brings no relief 

From such a thought, nor can the camp or court, 

Nor can the glories of a monarch's power 

Bring restful peace, or heal a sin-sick breast. 

The sword of Damocles is ever there, 

And secret crimes of yore renew themselves 

To fill the wakeful hours. From side to side, 

Restless, the wretch will turn ; and if perchance 

A fitful snatch of sleep should come, how soon 

He starts in terror at the slightest sound, 

With widely staring eyes, his ears alert, 

And on his brow the chilly sweat of fear, 

Half dead, half mad how such must fear the night ! 

Not so, O Father, with those pious souls 
Whom angel-guards defend at Thy behest, 
Who rest beneath the shadow of Thy wings 
Each darksome night, for golden dreams are theirs 
And mine as well ; at least, when Thou dost seize 
And snatch me to the starry courts of Heaven, 1 

put forward. We may also add the passage in Paradise Lost, ii. 662, 
concerning the " night-hag riding through the air," and the long passage 
(Paradise Regained, 407-30) detailing the terrors of night by which 
the Tempter disturbed the fasting Saviour in the wilderness : 

Infernal ghosts and hellish furies round 

Environed Thee ; some howled, some yelled, some shrieked. 

Thus passed the Night so foul, till Morning fair 
Come forth with pilgrim steps in amice gray. 

These odd, pessimistic views of night are not, so far as I know, 
held by any contemporary poet except Milton, and indeed few poets 
of any age or nation give such an unpleasant colouring as we have 
here. The only modern ones I can recall are Peter Pindar (i.e. Dr. 
Walcot), who says : 

Night, like a widow in her weeds ot woe, 
Had gravely walk'd for hours our world below. 
Hobgoblins, spectres in her train, and cats, 
Owls round her hooting, mix'd with shrieking bats ; 

and just before Milton's time that strong denunciatory stanza of Lucrece 
O comfort-killing Night, image of HelL 

1 Though dark, O God ! if guarded by Thy night 
I see with intellectual eyes ; the night 
To me a noontide blaze, illumined by 
The gracious splendour of Thy Majesty. 

These lines form the conclusion of forty-two lines 01 verse On 


Setting me with the angelic throng, and near 
That golden altar ever flaming forth l 
With incense and with odours choice, the signs 
Of pious prayer ; while round me I may see 

Daybreak, which many critics, and among them Symmons, have 
without hesitation given to Milton as author. The poem first appeared 
in the Gentleman's Magazine for August 1786, p. 698. It was found 
on two leaves prefixed to the title-page of an original first edition 
of Paradise Lost. It was written in a female hand, and subscribed 
"Dictated by J. M." 

Taken in conjunction with this and other passages of Nova Solyma, 
and also with what we know of Milton from his acknowledged writings, 
the poem On Daybreak, in spite of the jingling rhymes, may possibly 
be Milton's. The moon is referred to by the epithet " Cynthia," which 
we also find in Nova Solyma. As I do not think this poem is much 
known, I will give the beginning : 

Welcome, bright chorister, to our hemisphere; 

Thy glad approaches tell us day is near. 

See ! how his early dawn creeps o'er yon hill, 

And with his grey-eyed light begins to fill 

The silent air, driving far from our sight 

The starry regiment of frighted Night ; 

Whose pale-faced regent, Cynthia, paler grows 

To see herself pursued by conquering foes, etc. 

1 This poet's vision of an ara aurea, a golden altar in Heaven, is 
clearly taken from Revelation viii. 3, 4, which John Milton quoted in 
his Christian Doctrine, v. 30 (Bohn's ed.) : " There was given unto him 
much incense, that he should offer it with the prayers of all saints 
upon the golden altar which was before the throne. And the smoke 
of the incense, which came with the prayers of the saints, ascended 
up before God." 

This thought of prayers ascending with incense was a favourite one 
with our great Puritan. It was Biblical that was one reason ; and 
they were presented by the One great Mediatorial Priest, not by 
Laud's satellites that, no doubt, was another reason. Compare that 
fine passage in Paradise Lost, xi. 14 : 

To heaven their prayers 

Flew up nor missed the way, by envious winds 
Blown vagabond or frustrate : in they passed, 
Dimensionless, through heavenly doors ; then, clad 
With incense, where the golden altar fumed, 
By their great Intercessor, came in sight 
Before the Father's throne. 

This parallel comes out again strongly farther on in our Sixth Book, 
where Apollos (i.e. Dr. Thomas, young Milton's tutor) is discoursing 
on the power of intercessory prayer independent of any " stinted 
liturgy," as Milton calls it in his Eikonoklastes. 

i 3 8 ODE TO THE DEITY [Bk. V 

Those heaven-born sons of light who kept the faith, 
And those blest saints elect from all the earth, 
Redeemed from sin's foul stain, their equals now ; 
While each and all in white-robed triumph join 
With songs in unison and festal dance. 1 

O God, Thou builder of the flaming walls 
Of yonder star-strewn Heaven, the winds are Thine, 
And Thine the secret chambers of the deep ; 
Thy plastic hand did mould the passive earth 
And set in solid order this our world. 
Great Fount of all ! Thy will stands ever sure, 
Though men resist, and wag their raging tongues. 

Nor was, O Christ, Thy Godlike glory marred 
When Thou didst take our nature's lowly form, 
Didst bear our ills and trials undefiled, 
And, slain by wicked men, didst rise again 
To Heaven's high gate, triumphant over Death. 

O Father, Son, and Holy quickening Spirit, 
Eternal Trine ! who is there like to Thee 
Among the gods whom pagans vainly dread, 
Or where Thy equal found ? To Thee alone 
Enthroned above we raise the worthy song, 
For Thou art clothed with honour, and to Thee, 
With outspread eagle-wings, crowned Victory 
Her note of triumph sounds in joyous glee. 2 

Ah me ! the vision's gone ; I wake once more 
To earthly cares, and life's dull, troubled course. 
Ah, woe is me ! in prison fast I'm chained, 
And sunk in sin. Ah ! who can set me free ? 
Lust drags me headlong down; the wicked world 
Is ever near ; and Satan claims his own. 

But yet why should I fear these deadly three ? 
For Thy right hand doth hold me up, and I 
Shall solace find from thoughts of joys now nigh, 
And Thy millennial kingdom's Majesty ! 3 

O God, who sowed the eternal stars on high, 
My King and Father, unto Thee I cry. 

1 Compare Milton's description of night in Heaven (Paradise 
Lost, v. 642, etc): 

Who in their course 

Melodious hymns about the Sovran throne 
Alternate all night long. 

2 See Excursus N (Victoria). 

3 See Excursus H (Joseph Hymn to the Deity). 


But Joseph's young friends were hardly in a fit state of 
mind for such reflections ; a constant sense of shame, and 
all the anxieties that came with it, kept ever oppressing 
them. Not even the quiet of night gave them relief, and 
many a sigh and many a tear marked the silent watches. 
At last one night, when they had been bemoaning the 
past together, Politian could refrain himself no longer. 

" Why," he asked, " do we stay here, disgraced as we 
are, and unworthy recipients of so many kindnesses? If 
neither the good advice nor good example of such worthy 
citizens as we have met here can improve us, the sooner 
we return home with all our follies the better ; let us not 
stay and pollute such a spot with our . misdeeds. But 
whither shall we flee to hide ourselves, and what hiding- 
places can we ever find from God's presence ? " 

His emotion did not allow him to say more, and 
Eugenius, equally affected, remained silent too. This 
mutual symphony of woe robbed them of much of their 
first repose, and. with short snatches of broken sleep the 
night passed very wearily till they welcomed the dawn. 




young men would now doubtless have with- 
drawn themselves and their troubles from the society 
of Joseph, and quietly taken their leave of the country, 
if the happy chance of events had not ordered otherwise. 
But just at this juncture Apollos happened to arrive 
home again, and his first visit was to Jacob's family. 
His meeting with Joseph was a most affectionate one 
on both sides, and especially were they thankful to meet 
at home safe and sound after so many perils. 

While they were recounting their adventures, Alcimus 
came in, and added still more to his father's joy and 
surprise by prostrating himself with filial reverence almost 
as a suppliant at his father's feet. Joseph explained briefly 
to Apollos the true history of Alcimus, and what had 
happened, and thus there was nothing now to restrain 
their feelings of happiness. Jacob next came in and 
joined in the general joy, and all wanted to know how 
Apollos had got safely through such a constant storm of 

But before answering their questions, Apollos made an 
enquiry whether a certain Politian and his brother-comrade 
Eugenius were staying with them. 

" Yes," was the reply, " they are with us ; but what do 
you know of them ? " 



" I am glad indeed to hear of them," said Apollos ; 
" I should like to see them if they are in the house now." 

Whilst they were being sought for, Apollos took out a 
letter which he said he had brought for them from their 
parents. This made Joseph ask Apollos eagerly whether 
he had been in England. 

" Yes ; and indeed their friends were very hospitable 
to me. They were overjoyed to hear their sons were alive 
and well in our own country, according to a letter they 
had received." 

While they were still talking, Politian and Eugenius 
hurried in, having just received the message sent to them. 
They began to enquire at once about the friends they 
had left behind, and on this point the letters from home 
which Apollos handed to them gave all the necessary 
information. They were to this effect viz. their friends 
in England could not understand what had induced them 
to leave their country without their parents' knowledge, 
and thus to leave all plunged in the greatest grief and 
anxiety ; that it was no small comfort to hear that their 
ill-advised journey had resulted in finally bringing them 
to a most admirable nation, where they could make amends 
for their past rashness and devote themselves to the 
highest culture. The letter also sent permission to stay, 
if convenient, in their present hospitable quarters, as the 
writer himself intended shortly to sail for Nova Solyma 
on some public business. 

When Apollos had thus executed his commission, he 
proceeded at once to relate his adventures : 

"After I had been driven to take refuge in Italy from 
the bad treatment of the Sicilians, I at once took passage 
in the next ship bound for Judaea, for I was an exile 
with no means of living, nor could I ascertain where 
you might be with any certainty, and I wished as well 
to anticipate any bad news of our party that might 
eventually reach Nova Solyma, and relieve any serious 
apprehensions of our safety ; but by God's Providence you 
have arrived before me. 

"We started from Rhegium, and were well out at sea, 


making an eastward course under a favourable wind, and 
secure from any perils of sea and sky, but not, as it turned 
out, secure from a more serious peril viz. some African 1 
pirates who were looking for booty in that part of the 
Mediterranean, and attacked us. Our ship, which was of 
inferior size, and not equally armed for resistance, yielded 
without a shot being fired. 

" Our barbarous captors were not content with taking 
the cargo and all we had, but made us their prisoners 
as well. When they had stripped our vessel of everything 
that could be serviceable to them, they set her adrift, and 
packed us all into the lowest and darkest part of their 
ship, underneath the gangways. What they gave us to 
eat was hard ship's biscuit and stinking, foul water, and 
what with our close quarters and the filthy surroundings 2 
affecting our health, we suffered as much as captives can. 
We remained some time in our dark hole, with no means 
of knowing the pirates' plans or what would be the end 
of us, until the third day, when we were forced into still 
closer custody, and all our exits strongly bolted. We 
then heard the guns cleared for action, and presently we 
heard frequent cannonading and loud concussions which 
made our ship quiver from stem to stern. 

" All this time our ship kept tacking about so as best 
to discharge her broadside, and looking out for every 
advantage of wind or current, so that it really seemed 
more a duel between ships than a fight between men. 
The contest was long and most determined, and all 
this time our fate was most uncertain were we to be 
butchered, or drowned, or taken prisoners a second time? 
We could not say ; but we preferred any event to the 
pirates' victory, and our former cowardice in surrendering 
our ship to the pirates without a blow was in marked 
contrast to our present bold schemes for fighting for our 
liberty from our cruel captors. Near me in our prison 
hole was a young Englishman named Strong, maimed 
in person, but of great resource of mind and ready 

1 I.e. Algerian, as appears from Rawlins's account. 
1 Immarcentes paedore. 


courage. 1 He had been always against the surrender, and 

1 Where the author of Nova Solyma obtained this wonderful " tale 
of the sea " has most fortunately been discovered by a learned friend 
of mine who in knowledge of books has few equals, if any. It is a 
strong piece of evidence for authorship, and shows clearly enough 
that the author of Nova Solyma was an Englishman. For this " tale 
of the sea " is adapted from The Wonderful Recovery of the Exchange 
of Bristow from the Turkish Pirats of Argier, published by John 

This first appeared as a quarto pamphlet at London in 1622, and 
was afterwards reproduced in an abbreviated form in Purchas, His 
Pilgrimes, 1625, fol. To put the tale very briefly, the Exchange was 
an English ship which had been taken by the Turks, refitted at Algiers, 
and sent out as a pirate with a crew of sixty-three Turks and Moors 
and ten English captives , or slaves, as they are called, of which one 
was John Rawlins, the narrator and publisher of the account, who is 
described as being " a man in every way sufficient for sea affairs, 
being of great resolution and good experience, and for all he had a 
lame hand, yet had he a sound heart and noble courage for any 
attempt or adventure." 

The English captives (ten in number, as in our Romance) were 
employed under hatches about the ordnance and other such works, 
and their condition was so miserable that Rawlins often "burst out 
into these and such-like abrupt speeches : O Hellish slaverie to be 
thus subject to Dogs ! O God, strengthen my heart and hand and 
something shall be done to ease us of these mischiefes, and deliver 
us from these cruel Mahometan Dogs." 

Rawlins frequently spoke to the other Englishmen about their 
wretched state and urged them to join him in an attempt to get liberty, 
and, having obtained many secret confederates, they got together and 
concealed various pieces of iron and other things that would be 
useful for their plan. Eventually the attack that Rawlins planned 
came off successfully, for they surprised and killed several Turks, 
and the others then surrendered, and the ship was safely taken to 
Plymouth, and, so the narrative concludes, the Turks are in jail there 

From the above it is clear enough that the Englishman Strong, 
or Valens, the hero of the tale in Nova Solyma, is no other than John 
Rawlins, of the Bristol ship Exchange, and that the tale in our 
Romance is a piece of fiction to some extent based on fact. 

The author of Nova Solyma does not by any means borrow the tale 
entire from Rawlins's pamphlet, for he has given many incidents that 
do not at all agree with the pamphlet ; but there can be no doubt, from 
the above-mentioned remarkable similarities, that the pamphlet had 
been read by our anonymous author, who appears to have made up 
his Nova Solyma tale from a mixture of Rawlins and one or two other 


was all the more fretful as a captive. I, too, had advised 
resistance, so he had some confidence in me, and whispered 
in my ear : ' Why do we keep here shut in like cattle 
in a slaughter-yard ? We are losing our best opportunity : 
many of the pirates are slain ; no one can be spared to 
guard us just now. We have our hands free, and so 
can provide ourselves with weapons, or even if we cannot 
arm ourselves, we can at least hold down the pirates while 
the enemy is boarding the ship ; and if we thus help the 
foe to victory, our liberty will surely be given us as a 

" I approved his plan, and advised him to communicate 
it with all boldness to the rest. There were ten of us, 
and the pirates, before the action began, numbered fifty 
odd ; and on account of our great minority and previous 
cowardice, they did not trouble themselves much about 
us. So the Englishman boldly urged his plan, and advised 
them to take the chance and manfully attack the pirates 

contemporary English deeds of naval daring viz. the account of the 
Dolphin, a ship which on her voyage home from Zante in 1617 beat 
off five Turkish vessels, and the combat of the Lion ship in 1625. 
Both these " tales of the sea " are recorded in the works of Taylor 
the Water-Poet, published in 1630. These very useful identifications 
I owe to Dr. Richard Garnett, and I quite agree with his dictum that 
if the author of Nova Solyma did know and use these accounts " it 
would establish a moral certainty of his being an Englishman." 

This was something for my contention certainly ; but could I bring 
Milton in ? that was my next thought. I then remembered that Purchas 
was one of the authors which John Milton had drawn upon more than 
once in his Common-place Book discovered so recently as 1877, and 
on reference to my shelves I found an extract which Milton had 
written down from Purchas, torn, ii., 759 i.e. only about a hundred pages 
before Rawlins's account. So that after 250 years and more we are 
able to say that John Milton, in the course of his reading, arrived at 
a measurable distance of letter-press from the very tale in question ! 

May we not believe, I ask, that our illustrious poet continued his 
reading a little farther, and that the striking tale of Rawlins and his 
lame hand and his courageous resourcefulness, and even his name 
(RAVVLINS=VALENS), were all almost unconsciously impressed on his 
mind (or, to be up to date, impressed on his subliminal consciousness), 
and then reproduced in his youthful Romance, altered and stamped 
with his own mark, as was his frequent manner. 


while intent on the foe ; ' for in this way/ said he, ' you 
will recover all you have lost, or at least you will obtain 
liberty either by victory or by death.' 

"As he spoke, a large cannon ball from the enemy 
crashed through the side of the ship in front of them all, 
and smashed the bolts and bars of their prison-house. 
Splinters of the shattered wood wounded two of them, 
but not seriously, and all were affected by the rush of 
air ; but the result was that as an opening had been 
thus made for us, and our present condition seemed more 
desperate than ever, by common consent we all rushed 
out through the broken door. The Englishman, who 
was our leader, seized an iron bar which he found close 
by, and others took for their weapons poles and splinters 
of the broken wood and whatever came to hand. We 
were ordered to follow close behind, and first made our 
onslaught on the gunners, who could not hear us for 
the noise. We attacked them unawares, and hard at 
their noisy work. The first three we came upon were 
slain where they stood, and, arming ourselves with their 
weapons, we prepared to defend the fore part of the ship 
where this happened. 

" Presently some of the other pirates, who happened 
to see us, turned to attacked us with fierce cries ; but just 
then a torch, which had been carelessly thrown aside, 
fell upon a great heap of gunpowder. A volume of flame 
burst forth at once, and many who were near, and more 
still who were on deck just above, lost their lives, and 
the after-part of the vessel was much damaged. We were 
near the prow, and as explosions of flame always spend 
their energy in the upward direction, we all escaped 

"To be freed from immediate danger by such a provi- 
dential event raised our spirits and gave us much con- 
fidence. The pirates, struck with terror, rushed here and 
there away from the fire, while we all started forth at 
once from our lurking-places and made our way to the 
deck. There we found that the explosion had damaged 
the largest sails and the tackling, and that the rudder 

VOL. II. 10 


was useless. Tossed about on the sea like a log, our 
ship could neither tack nor fight, and her guns were soon 
silent. When the enemy perceived this, they brought 
themselves alongside and, using their poles and iron hooks, 
prepared to board us. Our English leader now recognised 
the attacking party as his fellow-countrymen, and made 
signs that we were friends who had just seized the ship. 
So they boldly leaped on our part of the deck and joined 
us. The pirates, in their despair and rage, now went 
below and began to heap together all the powder that 
was left, and, setting fire to it, in one vindictive act they 
blew to pieces themselves and a great part of the ship, 
as well as about six Englishmen, among whom was our 
leader, and three others of the crew, who had all rushed 
too eagerly after the pirates for the sake of vengeance. 

"The ship was now so knocked to pieces that there 
was hardly a sound plank anywhere, so it was decided 
to take us off and set her adrift. 

"All this took place off the coast of Spain, where the 
ship, returning with a cargo from Zante, had been attacked 
by our pirates, who had been diverted from their usual 
haunts by the change of wind. Flight was impossible, 
so they prepared themselves for defence, but only with 
a view to make the pirates drop their pursuit ; however, 
as things turned out, they succeeded beyond their utmost 
hope in being easy victors. 

"As their own vessel was somewhat damaged by the 
broadsides it had received, and as the wind was in the 
right quarter, they determined to make for England at 
once. We went there too, as there was no time to reship 
us, and our sailors were a useful addition to the crew. 

" After ten days we arrive at Plymouth Sound, and 
disembark. The merchant who owned nearly all the 
freight lived in London, so his supercargo, Clement, who 
had been friendly with me during the voyage, and saw 
my want of means, induced me to go to London with 
him, and promised his help in getting me something to 
live on from the merchants there who had dealings with 
the Jews. I was not backward in accepting so good a 


way out of my difficulties, so he hired two horses for us, 
and we rode direct to the merchant's house in London. 
On his arrival the supercargo gave his account of this 
voyage and especially of the fight, and mentioned to the 
merchant that he had brought with him an aged Jew 
who had rendered useful service with others against the 
pirates, and was anxious to reach his country again, 
but was quite without means. 

"The merchant, whose name was Angell, orders me 
to be called in, and after a few customary words he 
thanked me for my help to his ship, and I returned the 
compliment by thanking him for his agent's kindness to 
me, and indirectly for my own liberty. He then asked 
me to stay with him until he could arrange for my return 

" While here I fell ill with the quartan ague, and did 
not get free from it all the spring, and the reason I did 
not write to you was that I thought you must have 
already heard alt that happened in Sicily, and I had 
nothing very cheerful to relate about myself. Just when 
I had regained my health, the merchant received a letter 
from his sons at Nova Solyma. When he found they 
were staying with Jacob, whose name and position I had 
mentioned to him in conversation on other occasions, he 
called me to him and read the letter aloud. 

" ' Now,' he added, ' as you are well acquainted with their 
host and also his surroundings, pray tell me all you know.' 

" When I heard Joseph mentioned in the letter, I was 
amazed, and thanked him for letting me hear the news, 
for it was news of my own friends. This very Joseph, I 
told him, was my own pupil, entrusted to me by his father 
to be his tutor on a tour to Europe. Then I related how 
we were separated, and also my own privations, but 
that I could forget all my troubles in the thought that 
he was safe, and that the merchant also need no longer 
be anxious about his sons, for they were with excellent 
and generous people. He was rejoiced at what I told 
him, and especially gratified that he had the chance of 
somewhat repaying his obligation to you in me. 


"In the course of friendly talk I found out that the 
younger of his lads was his own son, and the other his 
stepson, the only child of his wife by her former marriage 
with a Venetian named Adrian, whom I have often heard 
you mention as one of your greatest friends." 

On this Jacob turned and looked earnestly at Politian, 
and then, as though he recognised his father's features, 
he embraced him, and said : " Art thou then the son of 
that old friend of mine who did so many good services 
to me in days gone by, and was such a helper to our 
people when we came back to Zion? Why have I been 
so long unknown to one who has such a great claim to 
my gratitude?" 

This renewal in Politian of a very old friendship was 
a cause of much pleasure to all, and so was the news that 
Angell the merchant was soon to take ship and visit 


PRESENTLY the company separated, and Jacob was 
left alone with the two young guests, and after a 
pleasant and friendly talk he took the opportunity, at 
their request, of proceeding with the discourse he had 
lately commenced for their benefit. 

" I have already told you how I arrived at the opinion 
that religion in its essence is the true worship of God 
as Creator, and that He, the most Holy One, cannot and 
will not be worshipped by the ungodly ; that wickedness 
and contempt of God cannot be expiated by holocausts 
of sacrifices, or by rivers of tears, or by any abundance 
of subsequent good works. Especially is this so since no 
part of our life is free from this depravity of nature ; 
if we repent and renew our life, we are still not clear of 
the stain of guilt, and there is constant cause for penitence. 
The philosophers do not view these matters in the true 
and right way : they attach too great importance to our 
merits and virtues, and God's pardoning mercy to sinners 
is either altogether passed over or denied. It is, however, 
clear that this mercy is to be obtained by seeking for 
it. One reason is that we are all called to worship God, 
that being the only way we can approach Him. Another 
reason is the very condition of our life that now is, for 
by our wickedness we are separated from God and at 
enmity with Him, and by the law of justice condemned 
to His vengeance, and yet He preserves us alive, and 
loads us constantly with His benefits, guilty and wicked 
as we are. Why should He do this unless there be some 



dispensation of grace awaiting us, and some bright hope 
of a perfect and sufficient reconciliation provided for us ? 

" How are we to account for so many sacrifices, expia- 
tions, and prayers in the religious worship of all nations, 
unless it be their natural conscience prompting them to 
look for pardon ? Certainly God has implanted in the 
minds of all heathen nations this fundamental article of 
faith, as well as signs of His gracious favour, so that 
they might be the more without excuse. 

" Still, I would not dare to deny that God in His good- 
ness might graciously accept a reprobate man without 
any vicarious satisfaction at all, for His ways are infinite 
and inscrutable, and we cannot and must not limit His 
methods. Yet since this theatre of the universe is 
designed to show His glory as in a mirror, it seems but 
right that His justice should be truly vindicated, not in 
a slack or slovenly manner, nor yet in a merciless and 
angry mood, for justice, of all God's attributes, is the 
most invariable. Mercy can be granted or withheld ; pru- 
dence and might are exercised differently on different 
occasions ; but justice in its essence is simple and inflexible, 
its accompaniments are the sword and the balance, and 
by these are the wicked surely punished, and the just 

" How, then, can the wicked man go unpunished, and 
how can the unjust be pronounced righteous without 
annulling the first principles of justice ? When a man 
is tied and bound by his sins, how can there be peace 
for him and amity with God ? We can forgive those 
who trespass against us, and as a rule ought to do so, 
for vengeance belongeth to God in its supreme and final 
issue, and shall not the Judge of all the world do right? 

"But all the laws of justice are perfectly fulfilled if 
another takes to himself the guilt and the punishment. 
Nor does this vicarious satisfaction detract one whit 
from God's grace ; nay, it makes it much the more 
abound, for so grace and justice meet in harmony together. 
The offering of sacrifices, from Adam onwards, gives us 
a clear intimation of some future ordinance of God, some 


expiation by blood, which should prepare the way for 
our salvation. The false religions of antiquity followed 
in their own rites the same scheme, but not with the same 
object in view, for they only looked to purchase thereby 
peace with God, and to do away with the individual guilt 
by the mere merit of the sacrifice ; but the sacrifices of 
God's ancient people had in view God's goodness only, 
and His Messiah, who should come to fulfil the whole 
law of sacrifice. 

"So next I arrived at the firm conviction that there 
was a way of salvation, nor would I suffer it to be wrested 
from me by my own mistrust, or by the arguments of 
others, for I felt it to be the very foundation of all hope, 
without which there was nothing to expect but a most 
sure and eternal condemnation to the worst of torments ; 
and what could mortal man imagine more sad or dreadful 
than this ? Oh ! how gladly I accepted the thin beam 
of light that came to me through this loophole ; and if 
I could see nothing more, there was still that ray of 
infinite mercy streaming forth from the face of God 
Himself, and I felt the courage to walk on in the light 
thereof, yea, down into the jaws of Hell itself, if I could 
have but that to cheer me still. Nor did I cease to pray 
and beseech God to open to me the way of salvation, and 
to set my feet on the path that truly led to Him. 

" This thought, too, greatly helped me viz. that if 
there should be a new covenant of this kind, by which 
our debt to God could be annulled, it must be beyond 
the range of our ordinary faculties, and outside the domain 
of Nature, where nothing akin to this is anywhere apparent. 
So I next began to search out whether this Divine plan 
had ever been revealed from Heaven, and where I could 
find the best record and evidence of such things. 

" I knew it had been said by holy men of old that our 
hope of salvation rests on the name of God alone, and I 
thought therefore that all His ordinances, however trifling 
and futile they might seem to be, yet if they had sole 
regard to His goodness, could not possibly be in vain 
or misleading. And, what is more, I perceived that there 


was lying hid, under the letter of these ordinances and 
types, that very new and supernatural law of Redemption 
for which I was searching. 

" Herein I found the Saviour of the world predicted, 
indicated, and duly heralded, all being done with that 
gradual order and ceremony befitting such a grand event. 
The types came first, directing men's faith to a Messiah, 
but giving little or no knowledge concerning His person. 
God's people in the patriarchal days saw not the types 
in their clearness : they only saw the healing miracles of 
God. 1 Later on the prophets, enlightened by God, gave the 
people a clearer view of Him who should come. From 
this body of Scripture (rejecting all the folly of commen- 
tators) I gathered together a true delineation of the 
Messiah. He was to be God with us, born of a virgin, 
free from sin, and yet was to suffer all the afflictions of 
life, and die by a violent and cruel death. He was to 
redeem us by His merits and mighty power from the 
dominion of sin, and to transport us to eternal bliss. All 
these sayings I thought myself bound to consider with 
my most careful judgment. 

" The first thing that did much daunt me was that a 
man should be announced as God, since all Nature bears 
witness that there is but one infinite Deity. I there- 
fore began to think this name of God was devised for 
Him on account of the power and majesty manifested 
in Him, just as the polytheists admit their heroes to the 
title of gods, and that the Holy Spirit was entitled God 
as well to show that this plan was something not to be 
confounded with mere deification of heroes. When, how- 
ever, I looked back at the high character and proved 
truth of the writers, I felt that the theory of impious 
fiction was untenable. 

" When I remembered the age of these accounts, given 
forth when the hope of a Messiah was as far as could be 
from men's thoughts, and when the knowledge of Him 
was the slightest possible, I began to be tossed to and 
fro with divers conjectures, and at last I appealed to God, 
1 As in the brazen serpent in the wilderness. 


and earnestly prayed that He would Himself untie for 
me this hard knot. 

"Whilst thus immersed in profound contemplation, I 
felt this solution borne in upon my mind viz. although 
God is one and infinite, yet we must remember that He 
is One in a way peculiarly His own, in a way that is 
beyond our ways, ineffable and absolute, nor can His 
unity be understood by us at all more completely than 
either His eternity or His ubiquity, for if He remains 
altogether the same in relation to time, whether the past, 
the present, or the future, and to space, whether above or 
below or in the midst, seeing He completely fills with 
His infinite Presence all these three divisions, why should 
it be more incredible that He should be Three in One, 
and One in Three ? For They are not three infinites, nor 
yet three portions of one infinite, but three ineffable 
and inexplicable Persons in one infinite Essence. In 
Paradise it was enough to know the unity of God and His 
infinite power ; afterwards, when there became need of a 
Divine Saviour, it was only right that this hidden truth 
should be disclosed, and from whose mouth better than 
from His who knew best His own nature? Perchance 
not even yet do we know all the wonderful things that are 
to be revealed about the Godhead. 

" Thus there did come to me some notion of this 
mystery, though I cannot call it either knowledge or proof. 
For although we admit that God is One most simply and 
purely, 1 yet when He beholds His own beauty and enjoys 
His own happiness, He acts in His own way upon Him- 
self. So there is (i) the agent, (2) that which is acted 
upon, and (3) the action itself. 

"Our mind, which is our most godlike part, gives in 
some degree an illustration of this, not indeed by such 
threefold faculties as are united in the Divine perfection, 
but by the reflection of our mind's particular faculties on 

1 Lat. purissimus actus. The contemporary theologians Wollebius, 
Alex. Ross, etc., used to say " God was all act " i.e. He was not 
compounded, for in composition there is act and possibility ; but God 
is actus purissimus in their view. 


themselves, which is one of Nature's closest conjunctions. 
Thus the intellect understands itself. Here we have (i) 
intelligence, (2) the thing understood, (3) the intellectual 
power itself, 1 and yet one and the same intellect. In our 
case this happens without any change of person, for our 
nature is capable of this change in itself; but all that is 
contained in God, and separately considered, is also God, 
and so there are three subsistences of one Deity. The 
first is called God the Father, the fount and origin of the 
other two ; the second is the Son, who is the resplendent 
image of the Father, His wisdom and His word ; the 
third is the Spirit, or the active influence of each, 
harmonising and uniting the other two." 2 

1 This is almost word for word from a treatise on the Trinity by 
none other than Alex. Gil, Milton's old schoolmaster, written in 1601. 
See his Sacred Philosophic (London, 1635, fol., p. 217), where the 
treatise is represented in a second edition. It was originally published 
in 1601. 

This selfsame way of illustrating the mystery ol the Trinity had 
somewhat to do with the burning of Lucilio Vanini as a heretic and 
atheist in 1617. To meddle with the Trinity in the lands where the 
Inquisition was a power was indeed to play with edged tools, and 
poor Vanini found this out to his cost. I am afraid both the elder 
Gil and Milton would have fared very badly at the hands of the 
Inquisitors for their little piece of intellectual work here quoted, for 
Vanini was accused of blaspheming the incarnation of Christ in the 
following passage of his Dialogues : " Est autem Dei filius a Deo 
genitus, intelligens enim seipsum Deus general ex sese sibi aequalem 
filium propterea quod intellectio aequalis est intelligent!, ergo etiam res 
intellecta," etc. Who the original author of this piece of metaphysical 
verbiage really was, I know not ; but of the three here mentioned, Gil 
was the first to employ it in 1601, and Milton the last, Vanini having 
meanwhile been burnt to death for this and other similar intellectual 

3 Milton was an Arian insomuch as he distinctly rejected that 
metaphysical and scholastic notion known as the " Eternal Generation 
of the Son of God," which was the primary test as between Orthodox 
and Arian. Milton's so-called heresy in this matter appears clearly 
enough in his posthumous De Doctrina Christiana. But at no time 
of his life did he cease to be a firm and conscientious believer in the 
Father, Son, and Holy Ghost, according to Scripture and the Apostolic 
Creed as he interpreted these sources. Nor is it likely that Milton 
would consider any taint of heresy possible on such an abstruse 


matter, for in his tract on Toleration he carefully distinguishes 
between error and heresy thus : " Heresy is in the will of choice, 
professedly against Scripture ; error is against the will, in misunder- 
standing the Scriptures after all sincere endeavour to understand 
it rightly." 

Some of Milton's expressions at different periods of his life well 
illustrate the theory of the Trinity as given forth in Nova Solyma, and 
tend, I think, to support the Miltonic authorship : 

Thee next they sang of all Creation first, 
Begotten Son, Divine Similitude ! 
In whose conspicuous countenance, without cloud 
Made visible, the Almighty Father shines, 
Whom else no creature can behold ; on Thee, 
Impressed, the effulgence of His glory abides. 

(Paradise Lost, iii. 383.) 
Son, Thou in whom My glory I behold, 
In full resplendence, heir of all My might 
Effulgence of My glory, Son beloved." 

(Paradise I#st, v. 719.) 
Resplendent, all His Father manifest 

(Paradise Lost, x. 65.) 

" O Thou the everbegotten Light and perfect image of the Father ! " 
(Animadversions on the Remonstrants' Defence, 1641, Bonn's ed., iv. 71, 
where "everbegotten" need not mean ^eternally begotten," for to 
Milton " for ever and ever " was " throughout the ages " i.e. in time, 
not beyond it). 

O Son, in whom My soul hath chief delight, 

Son of My bosom, Son who art alone 

My word, My wisdom, and effectual might. 

(Paradise Lost, iii. 168,) 

" Thou therefore that sittest in light and glory unapproachable, 
Parent of angels and men, next Thee I implore, omnipotent King, 
Redeemer of that lost remnant whose nature Thou didst assume, 
ineffable and everlasting Love I And Thou the third subsistence of 
Divine infinitude, illuminating Spirit, the joy and solace of created 
things ! one tripersonal Godhead ! " (Of Reformation in England, 
1641 ; the famous peroration). 

" The generation of the Divine nature is described by no one 
with more sublimity and copiousness than by the Apostle to the 
Hebrews (i. 3) : ' Who being the brightness of His glory, and the 
express image of His person,' etc., etc. It must be understood from 
this that God imparted to the Son as much as He pleased of the 
Divine nature, nay, of the Divine substance itself, care being taken 
not to confound the substance with the whole essence, which would 
imply that the Father had given to the Son what He retained numerically 
the same Himself, which would be a contradiction in terms instead 


of a mode of generation. This is the whole that is revealed concerning 
the generation of the Son of God. Whoever wishes to be wiser than 
this becomes foiled in his pursuit after wisdom, entangled in the 
deceitfulness of vain philosophy, or rather of sophistry, and involved 
in darkness " (De Doctrina Christiana, v.). 

The Latin which is used by Milton for the text from Hebrews i. 3, 
is remarkable viz. " Qui cum sit effulgentia gloriae, et character 
subsistentiae illius." Here, as usual, he makes his own translation, and 
uses his own word subsistentia, which we have heard of above in 1641, 
when he calls the Holy Spirit " the third subsistence." 

If we compare all these quotations with the resplendens Idea and 
the tres subsistentiae of Nova Solyma, the coincidences of thought and 
expression will go some way in suggesting the Miltonic authorship 
of the work. 

And Wollebius, in his Christian Divinity, c. ii., says : " The Persons 
of the Deity are subsistences, each of which hath the whole essence 
of God." This book was Milton's favourite theological manual for 
his pupils. Also Gil the elder (master of Paul's School when Milton 
was a pupil) says (Sacred Philosophic, p. 55): "Our sound Doctors 
of all sides agree that vnoa-raa-is or a subsistence is rponos {inapt-fas, 
that manner of being, proprietie, or reall relation which belongs to 
every one Person in the Holy Trinitie." Gil was an orthodox Anglican, 
holding the equality and eternal generation of the Son, but frequently 
reminds us of the lines of argument in Nova Solyma. 


" T N the work of redemption the Father sends and 
J. bestows upon us the Son, the Son makes our re- 
demption a finished work, and the Spirit applies it with 
pardoning grace. As all the Persons had their share 
in the work, it was to be expected that the Son should 
take the work upon Himself, so that the Father might 
have the part of sending, and the Spirit the part of 
applying, and also that the Son, who is the image 1 of 
the Deity, might be the instrument 2 in working out our 
redemption. Undoubtedly the instrument must be Divine, 3 
for all creation is under the law of obedience, and therefore 
no redundant meritorious work can be performed by man 
to redeem his brother. But in His case, who, being of God, 4 
willingly took the form of a servant, by that Divine union 
it came to pass that His merits have the virtue of saving 
to the uttermost. It is befitting also that He should 
have the nature of man, and so be capable of obedience 
and suffering, and able to transfer the benefits thereot 
to us, in that same human nature in which the primeval 
curse descended to all Adam's posterity ; in fine, since 
man is the epitome of all created things, He became man 
that He might renew all things in Himself. And lest 
by His birth in the world He should seem to inherit the 
depravity of human nature, He did not become subject 
to the ordinary law of generation, 5 but was specially born 

1 Idea. 2 Machina. 3 Deus. 4 Deus. 

6 Milton's own words are (Christian Doctrine, c. xi.): "Christ 
alone was exempt from this contagion, being born by supernatural 


of a pure Virgin, and, that there might be no suspicion 
of any generative taint, born of a mighty supernatural 
generation, bringing with Him the signs of His Divine 
nature. 1 

" Moreover, he who expiates the sins of others must 
himself be without sin, and it was needful that He should 
suffer in order that the just sentence of God's law should 
be carried out in Him, and that He should thereby free 
us from our disobedience and restore us to the perfect 2 
favour of an offended Deity. 

" When I had turned these things over in my mind, I 
was filled with an amazing wonder, which presently resolved 
itself into faith, for all seemed so marvellous, and yet so 
worthy of God's holiness and goodness, so adapted withal 
to our needs, so sufficient, yea, so bountifully overflowing, 
that I felt bound to admit that such marvels and mysteries 
could not possibly be the inventions of man, nor concepts 
of his imagination. For this most wonderful plan of 
salvation embraces the whole world, and all the ages 
through which it shall last, and beyond them it stretches 
forth to limitless eternity. By this plan the particular 
attributes of God are each brought into perfect harmony, 
and attain to the full measure of praise. 

" So great a work as this was provided for and ordained 
from all eternity ; the world itself was framed for the glory 
of the Messiah that should come ; by the ineffable Word 
was it drawn forth from nothing, and adorned by His 

" Scarcely had this empire been set up in its exceeding 
beauty, when a twofold rebellion arose, and that monster 
more hideous than Chaos, more noxious than the vast 
inane, was permitted to enter upon the scene. 3 From 

1 See Milton's Christian Doctrine, c. xi. ; Bohn's ed., iv. 261. 

2 Heb. x. 14; cf. Milton's Christian Doctrine, iv., 315, 318. "The 
complete reparation made by Christ." 

3 Lat. " Ipso Chao deformius monstrum ipsoque inani et nihilo 
nequius." Do we not here see the first stirrings of that weird and 
sublime imagination which many years afterwards gave to the world 
that appalling personification of Sin and Death at the gates of Hell 

Ch. Ill] APOLOGIA 159 

that time all things downward went to ruin, concluded 
together under Sin and Death ; nowhere was there any 
means of relief, nowhere any hope of salvation. The 
whole work seemed built up on man's misery, and creation 
a failure, for surely it were better not to be, than to exist 
only for eternal woe. But the Divine Author of our 
salvation was not wanting when the occasion arose, nor did 
He cease from His purpose even when the world seemed 
lost. Touched with a compassion beyond human belief, 
He allied Himself to our weakness, and began an un- 
ceasing war against that most powerful enemy who had 
so recently made us bite the dust. He stood between us 
and the sword of the Father's wrath inevitably pending 
over our heads. He became our surety, nor did He ever 
draw back or repent His work of love, and to this alone 
He gave Himself wholly for our sakes. And so this world 
was delivered to Him, that He might lay in it the founda- 
tions of a new kingdom. 1 He came down and adorned 
by His presence this world of ours, and has chosen out 
those who should fight with Him as soldiers, not by their 
own strength, nor by such carnal weapons as had failed 
them heretofore, but by the aid of His invincible merit. 
That His victory might the more redound, He turned 
over to the ranks of the enemy the greatest portion of 
the human race, and among those very soldiers who 
fought on His side He has permitted a perverse faction 2 
to be in authority. 3 Yet He has ever shielded His own, 
and granted them constant access to Himself, so that when 
the contest was the fiercest, He, when called upon, would 
be present, and obtain the victory over the insulting foe ; 

in Paradise Lost! To personify metaphysical abstractions was con- 
sidered absurd by many critics of Milton, but he had defended the 
practice in Nova Solyma years before. 

1 Matt. xi. 27. 

2 Lat. inimica factio. This word and the English equivalent faction 
are favourite terms with Milton for political and theological opponents. 

3 The Papists ? This is Miltonic. He was most reserved in bring- 
ing politics or polemical religion into his moral writings, or indeed in 
referring to them in any way. See as to Popery especially, De Doctrine;, 
Christiana, p. xxvi. (Bohn). 


yet not by might or warlike panoply, but by a meek and 
lowly spirit, and by that knowledge of common human 
nature wherein (oh, miracle of Divine love !) our Saviour 
has associated Himself with us. 

"There is nothing that can be conceived so wonderful 
as this, nor aught that could be done more admirable. 
He was veiled in flesh that He might take upon Him 
the infirmities of the living and the needs of the dying ; 
and while He suffered the vilest indignities, nothing that 
was foul or unjust could be laid to His charge. 1 So He 
conquered the raging of men and of devils, and satisfied 
the justice of an offended Deity. Now He reigns in 
triumph, and not only wicked men and all the powers 
of Hell lie chained beneath His feet, but the spolia opima 
which He brought from the enemy, and made a show 
of to the world, 2 He has now hung up in their appointed 
place in Heaven. 

"The worst punishments of the damned, the eternal 
vengeance that is never satiated, do not glorify God's 
name, or uphold His dignity, as does this infinite satis- 
faction of the Son, whereby the heaviest weight of our 
multitudinous sins is counted as nothing against us in 
God's balance. 

"What nobler exercise of power can there be than 
to raise the weak and indigent from the cruellest of 
captivities ? What greater proof of wisdom than so 
happily to extricate us from the labyrinths of destruction ? 
But the pitiful loving-kindness herein displayed is the 

1 Professor Raleigh's recent appreciation of Milton (London, Ed. 
Arnold, 1900) is admirable in very many ways, but there is one 
remark which certainly surprised me. He says of our great poet and 
theologian : " His guiding star was not Christianity, which in its most 
characteristic and beautiful aspects had no fascination for him, but 
rather that severe and self-centred ideal of life and character which 
is called Puritanism." It was the part I have put in italics that startled 
me ; omit this, and the remark might pass as a fairly accurate general- 
isation. But considering the many beautiful perorations in his prose 
works and the Christian aspirations that so frequently occur elsewhere, 
I think the italics are not justified. Anyhow, Nova Solyma does not 
justify them. J Col. ii. 15. 


attribute that shines forth most of all in this dark world 
of ours, and it shineth unto perfect day. 

" That He should take into His bosom of mercy such 
unworthy outcasts, such bitter foes, that He should 
draw them to Himself even when they were unwilling 
and in open resistance, that He should not only give 
them pardon and salvation, but, with a zeal beyond 
conceiving, should join them to Himself in a bond of 
everlasting love ah ! here indeed do all the rays of God's 
goodness meet as in a focus, and this is the Light that 
lighteth every man that cometh into the world, this is 
the Star that bringeth chief salvation. 1 

" In the Son our nature is joined to the Divine nature, 
and ennobled by an everlasting and inviolable decree ; and 
as in the mystery of the Trinity there are three Persons 
of one nature, so the Person of Christ consists of two most 
diverse natures (a mystery hardly less wonderful than 
the other), and He has prayed that we may be joined to 
Him even as He is united to the Father. This is He 
who is the Lord and Governor of the world, and for the 
sake of His people, having made all things subject to 
Himself, He is their present salvation and future reward. 
Wicked men and evil angels He restrains with curb and 
scourge, and they who, on the Judgment Day, are con- 
demned by Him, shall go into everlasting punishment. 
As for the good angels, they shall be His ministers and 
serve Him in the courts of Heaven, and their reward shall 
be to live with Him in His keeping for ever. But only 
a very few of the race of wretched mortals are raised to 
this supreme honour (lest the favour be too general and 
common), and the bliss is so perfect and immense that 
there is more of favour shown to the lowest inhabitant 
in Heaven than of stern justice to all the tribes of Hell ; 
nay, further, what is stranger still, each smallest crumb 

1 Our illustrious poet and great Scriptural theologian never occupied 
a pulpit, and there is no record, even in later days of blindness, when 
he was almost a Quaker, of his speaking among his friends as "the 
Spirit moved " ; but surely here we have a sermon and a peroration 
worthy of the man. 

VOL. II. 1 1 


from the table of God's present bounty is greater than 
all the free favours of Paradise, for that bliss of the Adamic 
state, although it was under a covenant, depended on no 
previous merits, while in the other case God not only puts 
aside His vengeance, in spite of all the crying sins against 
Him, and the punishment they justly deserve, but shows 
a love by so much greater than man deserves as Christ 
is greater than Adam. 

" Whilst I seriously consider these things I do not feel 
so much instructed or edified as rapt in ecstasy, sur- 
rounded in unapproachable light, and in the enjoyment 
of some heavenly vision. 1 Nor can I oppose so great and 
so majestic a truth, nor give up the highest hopes that 
are vouchsafed to us, especially when I remember how 
vain and uncertain all things are below without Christ, 
how dark and cheerless and inglorious. Nor has any 
religion that I ever heard of gloried in so Divine a founder 
as ours : the Mahometans give no such Divine honours to 
their prophet, nor did he himself claim either to be God 
or the Son of God not through any humility of character, 
but rather because he despaired of sustaining properly so 
high a claim, and therefore he would not allow to another 
that which he dared not assume for himself ; and whatever 
other fanatic may have claimed Divine honours at once 
has been scouted by general contempt. 

" And so, when neither Nature nor any other religious 
teaching could give me the slightest help in obtaining the 
remedy I sought for, I remained in a strait between two 
not knowing whether to hope as a Jew or believe as a 
Christian. I was not prejudiced in favour of one more 
than the other, and I set about to discover the honest 
truth between them as best I could. First, I diligently 
reviewed once more the life of Christ, and compared it 
with the promised Messiah, in all the coincidences of His 
Person, acts, and sayings, both in His life and in His death, 
as well as in His doctrine and the Church He founded. 
If all these were found in perfect agreement with our 

1 See notes, Vol. I., pp. 193-5. 


prophecies and types, I felt that here was He whom I 
sought for, and nowhere else. 

" For some time I had my doubts about the truth of 
the Gospel account, which was of course fundamental 
in this enquiry ; but the more diligently I examined into 
this, the more did I notice its agreement with our 
traditions, and its obvious, simple truth joined with a 
certain Divine dignity and sanctity. It set forth the purest 
worship of God, while our earlier and more elementary 
religion never rose to such a height of unalloyed teaching, 
and was unable to point out half so beautifully and clearly 
either the reason of our redemption, the true office of 
the Messiah, or the glories of the heavenly kingdom and 
the world to come. 

"To this I added the testimony of others, that Christ 
was the best of men, even Mahomet giving to Him greater 
honour than to Moses, though this was a bold and in- 
cautious thing for him to say, for if Christ was such a 
true and holy prophet, how could He so sin against God 
as falsely to call Himself the Son of God, or how could 
He so deceive His followers by vain fables in such an 
all-important matter? 

"It seemed, then, that the Jews bore witness as against 
Mahomet that the Redeemer of the world must be truly 
the Son of God, and that Mahomet bore witness as 
against the Jews that Christ was that great prophet whom 
Moses foretold ; and the inference I drew was this, that 
both were right, or else Christ the most impious impostor 
that could be. But no sane or sober man had ever 
thought Him to be that, and so I accepted my first in- 
ference without a doubt. I could not believe that the 
Saviour was either a vain trifler or a mad enthusiast 
His lofty character and great natural sense quite put that 
idea aside ; and again, what self-advantage was He foster- 
ing by His message? He sought none and obtained 
none. He foresaw His death at the hands of His enemies, 
and went through with His work to the end ; His life 
approved His teaching, for He sought neither pleasures 
nor wealth, nor even did He bid for that popular favour 


which even the most rigid and austere impostors always seek 
after, although they may try to suppress their intention. 
Neither was He a cynic or an eccentric : He did not refuse 
to be present at social feasts ; He honoured His kinsfolk ; 
He paid tribute to Caesar. He always asserted His high 
calling, and He acted up to it. He was consistent both in 
His life and in His death, and whatever I sought for in 
the Messiah I found the fulness of it in Him. 

" It is true that a few learned poets have written on 
heroic themes in a lofty style ; but how very few even 
of these have lived the life they wrote of! and not one 
of them ever gave himself out to be Divine, without being 
laughed to scorn by the crowd and contemned by all 
prudent people. I felt it could not be possible that One 
of such lowly birth, having never learnt letters, One with 
no long experience of life, and with no support from 
His superiors, could ever obtain such a marvellous fame, 
both contemporary and posthumous, unless He had 
been supported by the evident witness of perfect truth, 
and confirmed by the most certain signs of an indwelling 
Deity. The chief priests and elders accused Him of 
fraud, but how lamely ! He chose for His disciples poor, 
unlettered men, but, if we may judge from their writings, 
of such a character as not likely to be either deceivers 
or deceived. And that He did was done openly, often 
before most critical and hostile spectators, who tried to 
entangle Him both in His talk and actions. One of 
His disciples was a traitor to Him ; but this man's con- 
science soon condemned him to a suicidal death. Many 
charges and calumnies were fabricated against Him, but 
when I looked for the evidence or catalogue of them as 
written over His cross, I found nothing beyond a voluntary 
admission He once made about Himself. 1 

" And besides all this, there are His miracles. He per- 
formed many, generally quite openly, and as circumstances 
might call them forth ; all were works of mercy and 
healing, such as befit a Saviour of mankind ; the one 
exception, when the unfruitful tree was cursed, was made 

1 Mark xv. 2. 


as a lesson for humanity in general. But allow these to be 
false, or done through confederates if you will ; yet who, I 
ask, could concoct all those coincidences of time and place 
which were required to fulfil the ancient prophecies, and 
which happened independently ? I mean such as these : 
that He was to spring from David's royal race just when 
the sceptre should depart from Judah ; that He should be 
born in the city of David, and should be cut off at an 
appointed time ; that a field should be purchased with 
the price of treachery ; that lots should be cast for His 
vesture ; that not a bone of Him should be broken ; and 
many other such-like predictions. 

" Forgers and those who are past masters in such crafti- 
ness, while they are most careful in putting together the 
main outlines of a story, are generally discovered by some 
minute and subtle discrepancies of an unexpected kind. 
But we have both Testaments, the Old and the New, in 
common use, and they both are in perfect agreement, as 
if the Messiah had been brought before us by the Jews 
to fulfil their prophecies. 

" And there is this to remember as well that if we take 
the Messiah to be a most arch-deceiver, and as long as 
He lived most careful to maintain the deception, surely 
we could not expect His disciples and followers all to do 
the same. But we know that, simple and unlearned men 
as they were, when they had lost their Master by a cruel 
death for His so-called blasphemous assertion of His 
Messiahship, and when they were in the same danger, with 
no hope of their cherished earthly kingdom, and with 
little knowledge of the heavenly one, they, I say, surpassed 
all human conception and all heroic precedent ; yea, 
they surpassed their own natures in the marvellous way 
whereby they spread the religion of Christ through the 
cities of Greece and imperial Rome, and as far almost 
as to the ends of world, although they had to fight against 
every injurious device of their enemies, in an age when 
might and acuteness were sworn allies. 

" Many of them, like their Master, wrought miracles, 
and cast out devils from the bodies and minds of men 



and from pagan temples. 1 They were moved by one 
self-same spirit, and followed the same precepts. And 
what manner of men were they to effect so much? 

" Well, not only did they give up all the chief pleasures 
of life, but all that they had, yea, and their lives also 
were gladly surrendered for their Master's sake, for their 
new hopes, and for their heavenly kingdom. For them 
there were no enticing siren voices, no Bacchanalian orgies, 
no ornate religious functions, and no charms of human 
eloquence to enchant and sustain. No tyrannical force 
of arms propagated their opinions, as was the case after- 
wards with the followers of Mahomet, whose faith sprang 
up only in the footsteps of preceding victories, and never 
advanced in any other way but by the law and right of 
conquest. Far otherwise was it with the first disciples of 
Jesus. The power of eternal truth seemed to be on their 
side, a truth not afraid of free discussion, combating with 
success the grossest calumnies of heretics and enemies, 
and standing firm against all the threats and tortures that 
natural depravity can devise. 

" And so it came to pass that a favourable opinion of 
the Christian religion began to possess my thoughts and 
to support my wavering faith, until at last the rays of 
Divine light burst upon me, and, taking away all my 
darkness and blindness, revealed to my enlightened eyes 
Jesus Christ, Messiah and Saviour, as well as Creator 2 and 
God. My sons, Christ dwells in our hearts by faith, and thus 
it is that we become conscious partakers of His fulness. 

" O my Saviour, I feel Thee there even now, and the 
rays of Thy glory shine forth through darkness that is 
about me, and my only grief is that I know only a part, 
and do not yet know Thee even as I am known." 

1 Thomas, the Apostle of India, and Titus, who broke the Cretan idol 
of Diana by his prayers, seem to be the ones alluded to. There are 
later monkish miracles of this kind, but Milton would reject all such. 

8 Here Christ is called Deus Creator. At first sight this seems a 
very strong expression, far stronger than Milton would be likely to use 
at any period of his life. But it is not really so it is not even an 
anti-Arian expression when we consider John i. 3-10, Col. i. 16, 
Heb. i. 2, etc. ; and Milton uses the appellation Deus even for angels. 



WHEN this grave and pious discourse was ended 
and Jacob had left them, both the young men 
were moved in their conscience, and began to feel 
within themselves how unworthy they were of such 

Presently Eugenius went away, so as to be able more 
freely to meditate. Politian went to talk with Joseph ; 
and, being in an humble, penitent mood, he confessed to 
him how he felt the goodness of God in turning his back- 
slidings into the means of his self-conviction, and what a 
blessed event his visit to Solyma had been, for to him it 
had opened a better country, or rather another world. 

" Our prophets of old," said Joseph, " declared this, that 
many of the Gentiles should be born again by virtue 
of the Divine truth that should go forth from Zion ; and 
not long ago, thinking indeed of you, I translated into 
lyrics the very Psalm which so speaks of Zion, and here 
it is for you to read." 

Politian was hardly in the mood for lyrics, but he took 
the manuscript from Joseph, and began to glance through 
it with a sad, listless expression. 1 He had hardly looked 
into it when he began to say : " Oh ! my friend, pardon me 

1 In the Latin original there follows at this place an excellent and 
close lyrical translation of Psalm Ixxxviii. in twenty lines, consisting of 
alternate glyconics and asclepiads, beginning thus : 

Stat sacris sita montibus 
Sedes aetherei regia numinis, 

Portas illi Sionias 
Jacobi reliquis plus amat aedibus. 

On the whole, Buchanan's attempt for the same Psalm seems less 



if I seem to take little interest in such an excellent poem, 
but I have a sore wound at heart which deeply pains 
me, and I crave for sympathetic help. It was you who 
made me see and feel my wound ; 'it is you who should 
rightly apply the remedy. Soothe then, I pray, the tumult 
of my breast, and loosen the knot which conscience has 
tied so tightly. I will hold back nothing ; you shall see 
the innermost workings of my mind, for I feel that my 
crime and the heavy weight of Divine vengeance is greater 
than I can bear. 'Tis true I see sometimes a slight ray 
of omnipotent grace flitting across the darkness of my 
night with frequent flashes as from some tiny crevice. 
Ah ! but who shall fill me with these rays of grace, and 
make the shadows pass away for ever?" 

As he thus spake, Joseph earnestly gazed at him, and, 
not to lose so good a chance of guiding him aright, he 
prudently admonished him. 

successful ; but the metre used, being a different one, prevents a strict 

At three different periods of his life did Milton turn certain of David's 
Psalms into English verse : 

(1) When he was fifteen years old he paraphrased Psalms cxiv. and 

(2) In 1648 he translated Psalms Ixxx. Ixxxviii. into the usual service 
metre of eights and sixes. As I have stated elsewhere, he especially 
aimed in this translation at a close rendering of the Hebrew original. 

(3) In 1653 he rendered Psalms i. viii. into metres all different, and 
some very uncommon, the metres being most likely his own invention, 
and used by our great poet as a trial of harmony. 

If we put these English attempts of Milton side by side with the 
Latin translations of the Psalms that occur here and there in Nova 
Solyma, we shall find a striking parallelism. 

The two Psalms translated in our Romance are the 8/th and the 
I49th, and they are both very close renderings direct from the Hebrew, 
and are in different metres, both very uncommon, and probably 
invented by the author as trials of harmony. They are both successful 
in this, especially the latter Psalm, where there is the singularly 
harmonious and uprising concord of praise produced from the unusual 
succession of a glyconic, an asclepiad, and an hexameter. What 
English contemporary author would be likely to make such a fine 
metrical attempt as this, and a novelty as well ? 

It is admitted on all hands that Milton's English attempts on the 
Psalms are quite unworthy of his poetical genius. As Landor wittily 


" Alas ! how wrong it is to give to me the credit for a 
work which is of God's grace only ! It is this alone which 
gives us true knowledge of our sins and a sense of our 
most wretched state. No one is duly penitent for sins 
against God unless he is prompted by God, or put to 
the test, nor is it in man's power to make any one at 
peace with God. We can suggest, we can exhort, we 
can urge, but all the influence and effect is to be looked 
for from the Holy Spirit. It is not Zion that can make 
all her people holy, nor yet Babylon that can make hers 
vile. How many saw the miracles of Christ when He 
was on earth, and were none the better for it ! How 
many live soberly and act justly in their relations with 
their fellow-men/ and yet have a positive aversion to a 
true, heart-searching religion ! 

There are some, not only of average culture, but even 

expressed it, " Milton was never so much a regicide as when he lifted 
up his hand against King David." I think this pungent piece of 
criticism would have been considerably modified if Landor could have 
glanced through the Laudemus Dominum Deum and the Stat sacra 
sita montibus of our Romance. 

It is a strange anomaly that a poet such as Milton was should 
translate some of the Psalms in a worse manner than they have ever 
been translated before or since. A reason has been given that there 
is "a wide difference between being bound to the wheels of a chariot 
and guiding it." Quite so. To be able to hold with a free hand the 
reins of the winged chariot of our thoughts is an inestimable advantage 
to a poet. And therefore the two fine Latin lyrics of Nova Solyma, 
formed so closely from the Psalms, are all the more creditable to their 
author. However, Milton could be bound to the chariot, and yet at 
the same time handle the reins admirably well, and no better instance 
can be given than that in Paradise Lost, v. 152-200, where Psalm cxlviii. 
is made even finer than the original in those well-known lines 

These are Thy glorious works, Parent of Good, 

where the winged chariot does indeed rise from the lower mists of 
earth into a "larger air." The Latin Psalms of our Romance rise 
too in their degree, and are most appropriately chosen for a place 
in New Jerusalem, for this 8yth Psalm stands alone among the writings 
of the Old Testament in representing the union of nations as a new 
birth into the City of God, and the other Psalm, the I49th, is even 
yet more appropriate, as will appear when we reach it towards the end 
of this book. 


[Bk. VI 

some learned men, with strong proclivities in favour of 
Christian principles and the good of their neighbours, 
and with a strong wish to walk in the path that leadeth 
to eternal life, and yet, when the time for accepting the 
great offer is at hand, they turn aside and rush headlong 
to their destruction, and show clearly in this present life 
their condemnation, even before that last great day of 
reckoning and judgment which shall show forth God's 
most perfect work. 

" For whilst it is the truest test of righteousness to 
love God above ourselves, and to have faith in Christ 
beyond ourselves, this cannot be obtained in the least 
degree unless we are lifted up by the hand of God above 
and beyond ourselves. No pristine qualities of our nature 
can make us regenerate, for, being at enmity with God, 
we are without the desire to return to Him. 

" We have indeed liberty of will, but no will for that 
liberty 1 of the children of God which is free from the 
perverseness of sin. Whence in all our dealings with 
God there is no sincere and genuine impulse of our own, 
but the impulse is always from God. Nor are His 
impulses in vain ; in His commands, in His exhortations 
repeated again and again, in His threats, remedies, helps, 
He deals with us as men, He attracts our attention, and 
that He may have us listen, He imparts to us the revived 
faculty of hearing His voice, He shows us things that 
accompany salvation, and opens our eyes to help us to see 
them. He calls us to arise from the death of sin, and 
imparts to us the power of rising to life. 2 

" The wicked and disobedient He reproaches with 
their shortcomings and the loss of their original state, 
when they were not only free to obey, but capable 
of faith, and partakers of the hidden things of God, 
and in this life, if they refuse and despise the great 

1 A Miltonic jingle, or play of words, as elsewhere remarked. 

J The vvn >le argument here is condensed by Milton in his Christian 
Doctrine (Bohn's ed., iv. 318) in the following words : "If we deserve 
anything, if there be any worthiness in us on any ground whatever, 
it is God that hath made us worthy in Christ " (Col. i. 12). 


offer, He loads them with benefits that will avail them 
nothing. 1 

" As for His elect, He renews their nature and adapts 
their outward senses and inward feelings to the reception 
of His gracious purpose. They are earthen vessels, and 
these are left as they are ; but His grace is poured into 
them, and any good natural qualities they may retain are 
improved rather than rejected, for nothing that has come 
from Him does He refuse or destroy or despise. If we 
rightly consider the great work of redemption, we shall 
honour it with our highest praises as being anterior to 
and of wider scope than the work of Creation. 

" Moreover, Christ would not have so humbled Him- 
self, except to take unto Himself the whole merit of the 
work. Surely we miserable, petty mortals cannot claim to 
share it with Him ; but as He alone bore the awful weight 
of Divine vengeance, therefore He does not accept any 
helpers in the work of restoring us to grace, or of 
preparing our heavenly mansions, which is the crown and 
summit of it all. For how utterly incongruous and absurd 
it would be if He were to follow or be guided by our 
arbitrary or uncertain wills ; and if we cannot at once 
admit this, we are really only mocking His efforts and 
seeking to deprive Him of the noble booty He so 
earnestly hunts after. 

" Then, too, there is His mystical body, complete in all 
its members and joints. 2 If any could make themselves 
reprobates, would they not be mutilating that body in 
some of its parts ; or if they could make themselves of the 
number of the elect, would they not be grossly distending 
and altering its perfection of form ? 

" Nor does this upset the doctrine of the human will, 
for our will stands to God's will in the relation of a 
child to its father and ruler, and this can easily and 
almost instinctively be brought into accordance with Him. 

" This Divine work, which theologians term conversion, 
has many counterfeits and travesties, and by these men 
are deceived both with regard to others and themselves, 
1 Psalm xvii. 14. * Eph. iv. 16. 


for conversion often lies far beneath the surface, and is 
often concealed under many frailties and imperfections. 
Yet it is most certain that they who have really 
experienced this great work are as far removed from 
all the false professors of it as Heaven is from the Hell 
to which all such really tend. 

" And indeed, if conversion were not of the nature, 
so to speak, of an infused state of mind, we might 
make progress in it step by step ; and in that case, 
those who died at different stages of the work, or in 
mid progress, would be in some suspended middle state, 
or at least fall short of consummated bliss ; and how 
could we possibly draw the line between the merits 
sufficient for Heaven, and those not quite so good, 
which would send us to Hell ? 

" No ; direct and honest conversion is the work and 
office of God Himself, and is the effect of eternal election. 
It marks the individual and inscribes his name in the 
Book of Life, from henceforth never to be blotted out. 
It makes us partakers of God's covenant and citizens 
of Heaven. It is a new birth, brought to pass in a 
moment, as is the old conception in sin, and it is completed 
in due time. It can check or draw back as with a bit 
those rushing to destruction in mad career of sin. The 
genuine converts are the first to admit that they them- 
selves are helpless to effect anything, nor do they presume 
to boast of their own will, though they feel they can do all 
things, God helping them no enticements can allure them, 
or tortures daunt ; while, on the other hand, they who 
boast of the powers of the natural man, and profess 
much, generally perform little, and never attain to such 
real piety. 

" Let them therefore who choose that way take their 
stand on their good works ; let them heap Ossa on 
Pelion, and Olympus on Ossa ; let them, like the giants 
of old, strive to rise from earth to Heaven, till with the 
same inevitable result they are struck by the Divine 
thunderbolts down to mother earth again, and buried 
beneath their own inventions. 


" I earnestly warn you, be not like the many who 
flee for salvation to such a refuge, deeming it perfectly 
safe both in life and in death ; yet, not having entered 
the ark of faith, they must all fail to reach the desired 

" The old Adamic covenant is annulled and condemned, 
and now we must go beyond our own efforts, and daily 
beg for what is needful from our second Adam, not 
reckoning our own merits, but His only. Wherefore, I 
beseech you, count these small seeds of grace, which 
have now just been sown in you, as of far greater 
worth than gold, or precious stones, or even a royal 
diadem ; go on, as you have begun, in the hope of His 
loving-kindness, and enter into your joy. If I have 
been of any service in this great matter, I rejoice with a 
greater triumph than if I had gained the whole world." 

Politian, who had been a wrapt listener, with all the 
eagerness of a thirsty soul, was so touched by the last 
words that he cried out : " O Joseph, next, after God, I 
owe all to thee. I should have been lost a second time 
but for your better advice now, for I had resolved with 
my mind to repent of my past life, and by a course of 
good actions and religious duties to obtain the grace 
of God ; and now 1 perceive that I must make the last 
first, and begin with grace. O Jesus, my Lord, I believe 
in Thee; help Thou my unbelief!" 

With many a deep sigh and with tearful eyes upcast 
to Heaven did he repeat his vows and prayers, while 
Joseph, who had closely grasped his hand for sympathy 
and joy, could scarce restrain his emotion. 

" Hold fast to this," said he, " and insist on it ever 
thus, and you shall never perish ; my soul for yours on 
it. In all that you do, let this be the aim and end, for 
faith will call upon you to do very many things, and 
will give you strength from Heaven to do them. 

" Many grope about in the dark in this matter of con- 
version, and cannot find the door of entrance ; they run 
hither and thither, and are out of breath, and yet make 
no progress because they have missed their true way, 



and their labour is therefore in vain. This that I tell 
you of is the heavenly road, which shall lead you 
straight to the end ; it is the heavenly chariot that 
shall with greatest ease exalt you on high. 

" From the very first I felt drawn to you in the 
bonds of love, but never more so than in your present 
self-abasement. Go on by all means as you have begun, 
and become a noble and true Christian, not vainly puffed 
up with the scum or the dregs, but healthily nourished 
by the essence and spirit of our religion. Enter upon 
the road of true happiness, for it is religion that makes 
us truly and rightly enjoy all things in their God -given 
uses. Prosperity is then a savoury dish, having the 
relish of a good conscience, and is a foretaste of 
better and more enduring good things laid up for us in 
store. Adversity is endured with an equable mind as a 
necessary and salutary correction from a Father's hand. 
In fact, the eternal joys of Heaven are the very breath 
of His life, and the sure and certain hope of them casts 
in the shade all other hopes. 

" How different with the wicked ! The best advantages 
of life are misused or wasted ; their very joys lack 
spontaneity, and are built upon quicksands have nothing 
in them sure or perfect or well founded, nothing eternal. 
In their pleasures and luxuries they must needs be ill at 
ease, for there are the stings of a guilty conscience, and 
the sword ever impending over their heads. 

" And when they fall into misfortune, they are like wild 
beasts caught in a net, with no hope or chance of 
escape : there is nothing to comfort them, nothing to 
support them ; frightened and hemmed in by unforeseen 
evils, they live in the constant sight of death and the 
dreadful consummation of all the worst torments." 1 

1 Here truly we have a noble Nonconformist, a mighty Apostle of 
Free Grace I Here is no Cavalier resting on his Prayer Book, no 
Laudian dwelling on " the beauty of holiness " in Temple worship. 
Here is a Bunyan before his time, with " Grace Abounding " writ with 
the large logic of a cultured mind. Who in those days was equal to 
this and the rest of Nova Solyma ? 


WHILE they were prolonging this discourse a 
messenger came hastily on the scene, saying that 
Alcimus was in a critical state, and that Joseph's presence 
was desired. For Alcimus, urged on by his father's 
counsels, when he set about the work of a solid and lasting 
repentance \ubi coepit resipiscere~\ was greatly exercised 
by the repentance of fear \J>oenitentid exercebatur\)- 

So Joseph went at once, accompanied by Politian. 
They found his condition in no way altered ; he was 
still crying out about his sins, which, long unnoticed by 
him, were at length torturing his thoughts beyond en- 
durance. Apollos was there, trying to soothe him. 

" We know that you are under the rod of God's 
correction, no doubt deservedly ; but I exhort you to 
patiently submit to His will, and accept it as for your 
good in all penitence." 

But he, shaking his head, thus interrupted his father : 
" I could not bring my mind to such a state, were you 
to offer me all the glories of this world and the next as 
well. I know that it would open the door of Heaven 

1 Here the author makes a distinction between resipiscentia and 
poenitentia which was first made by Lactantius, Lib. VI., De Vero 
Cultu, c. xxiv., though the two words are generally used indiscriminately 
by the Fathers. Now, Milton also, in his De Doctrina Christiana, 
c. xvii., makes a clear distinction between the same two words, and 
illustrates it by saying that poenitentia was to resipiscentia as ordinary 
faith to saving faith (fides salvifica), and adds : " Methodi causa dis- 
tinguo ; neque nempe negarim poenitentiam pro resipiscentia saepe 



[Bk. VI 

to me, but it is beyond my reach, and you, if you were 
as I am now, would feel the same." 

" I admit that, my son," said his father, weeping, " and 
therefore it is that I would have you pray to God for it." 

But Alcimus was little moved by this appeal, and 
repeated his woes. 

" I am," cried he, " a very sink of iniquity : I have 
broken all laws, human and divine, and you know that 
in this I speak the truth ; but there is something worse 
behind, aggravating my guilt, and cutting me off from 
all hope." 

" Whatever it be, let us know it," said Joseph. " I 
warrant you for a certainty that the grace of Christ can 
overcome it." 

At this Alcimus looked at him stedfastly, and said : 
"Were you then present when God passed His decree 
upon me, that you can so boldly affirm this ? How know 
you that I was not shut out for all eternity ? " 

" And I will ask you," retorted Joseph, " how do you 
know that you were? Show us this arrow that has 
pierced you ; draw it out from the wound, and let us 
see if the wound cannot be healed." 

"Well," replied he, "I have the inward feeling and 
presentiment that I am without hope of grace or even 
of repentance." 

" Granted as to your present feelings," replied Joseph ; 
" but how can you know what your feelings may be later 
on ? The earth is iron-bound by frost, and when God 
brings back the genial sun, how soon is it broken up 
and softened by balmy spring, and what rich fruits does 
it bring forth ! The fiercest tempests are lulled at His 
word, and the raging sea is calmed. Is He less powerful 
in our case ? Nay, more ; the sense of impenitent un- 
worthiness is the first step towards salvation. Remember 
Theophrastus, who from the depths of wickedness and 
utter despair found this grace. Why not lay open your 
mind-sickness and seek its cure ? " 

He, still uncheered by hope, answered : " I know well 
enough that God is merciful, and I will ever acknowledge 


it ; but my case is such as to be beyond the pale of mercy. 
As a boy I was brought up in the best surroundings, 
was religious according to my years, and began to seek 
after a truly pious life ; and for long time I seemed to 
press forward and to be tasting Divine favour. But 
presently I grew weary of my good work, and fell back 
into vain desires ; the lusts of the world overcame me, 
and the weight of many sins pressed me down." 

" Your crime against God, I admit," said Joseph, " is 
great, and aggravated by the circumstances ; but is not 
the indulgence of God to you all the more wonderful, 
in that He has stirred up your mind, and chastised you 
with His terrors, and arrested you in your downward 
course, and brought you at least to some healthy recog- 
nition of your parlous state?" 

"What," replied Alcimus with a somewhat scornful 
smile, " can you hope to persuade me, or even to persuade 
yourself, that there is one spark of healthy religious 
feeling in my perverse and impious breast? What you 
refer to in me is not penitence you may take my word 
for that ; it is rather the utter despair of Hell, as is my 
just due." 

" Well," replied Joseph, " let us not talk of your past 
state as to that I pronounce nothing either way, and 
I advise you to follow the same course ; let us rather 
look at things as they are at present, and here I instantly 
affirm there is no ground for despair." 

" Nor yet for recovery," was the quick rejoinder. " Oh 
that I had never trod the heavenly path, or breathed 
that purer air ! However deeply I might have sunk in 
the whirlpool of vice there was still hope ; but now I 
have broken both the covenants and am without hope." 

Joseph tried to calm him a little after this outburst, 
and then added : " Your last argument limits God's 
power, and is incorrect otherwise, for the grace of Christ 
pardons * sins committed against the Law as well as those 

1 Here in the Latin we have the word corresponding to pardon 
written in the form exolvit, and in other parts of the book we find 

VOL. IJ, J3 


committed against the Gospel, and neither our repentance 
nor our faith can be, strictly speaking, complete and 
free from all blame, for we daily fail in our duty to God, 
even the best of us. Nothing is more frequently mentioned 
in Scripture than this failing, and the promises of pardon 
for it are just as frequent ; so your difficulty is futile, 
and easily cleared." 

Then said Alcimus : " I cannot forget Christ's declara- 
tion that if any one should sin against Him it would be 
forgiven, but whosoever should sin against the Holy 
Ghost should obtain no pardon, neither in this world, 
nor in that which is to come. Elsewhere, 1 too, there 
is this text, which I have read long ago, and carefully 
pondered in my mind : ' It cannot be that they who 
have been once enlightened, and tasted the heavenly 
gifts, and were made partakers of the Holy Ghost, and 
tasted the good Word of God, and the power of the 
world to come, and then fell away, can again be renewed 
into repentance.' This is my sin, and this is my con- 
demnation. Why do we argue in vain about a matter 
that is determined ? Let me die in my wretched state ; 
you who have not yet fallen from grace, take heed by 
my fatal sin, and seek salvation while you may." 

Then, feeling there could be no further answer or con- 
solation, he broke down in an agony of grief. But his 
father said : 

exolverat, exolvite, exolutum, exolve, exolvis, so that we have not 
a printer's error, but most likely the reproduction of the spelling of 
the author's MS. Now, that Milton was in the habit of spelling exsolvit 
as exolvit we have good proof from his MS. Commonplace Book, 
which has recently been discovered, and still more recently produced 
in facsimile. It occurs as exolvit at the page numbered 183, and is 
quoted by the Editor as one of mistakes in the original MS., and 
is corrected to exsolvit. But I would rather say it was no mistake 
at all, but that Milton advisedly wrote it so. There are many similar 
droppings of the sibilant in Milton's published works e.g. exanguis (In 
Quint. Nov., 148) ; exuccus (Opera Latina, Amst. 1698, 345) ; exuscitans 
(Opera Latina, Amst. 1698, 346). In Nova Solyma we have exortem, 
and other examples as well. 
1 Heb. vi. 4, 5, 6. 


" This terrible sentence is not for all who turn back, 
even if they fall away on the very threshold of Heaven ; 
it is meant only for those who in a hateful and vindictive 
spirit fight against God, and oppose themselves knowingly 
and with every sense of passion and lust to that all- 
embracing love of God which is the earnest endeavour 1 
of the Holy Spirit in our hearts. You warn others to 
shun your dreadful crime, and all the while you have 
not been really guilty of it ; and while you pretend that 
you have no wish to repent, you mourn and complain 
that repentance is impossible. Persevere, and study the 
doctrine of repentance a little more accurately than that, 
and you will find there is no Divine prohibition which 
shuts out any living man from that great Christian 

" Persevere, I say, in the face of all the obstacles and 
scruples which your own reluctant mind or the craftiness 
of the enemy may devise ; for what other course, O 
wretched, puny mortal, is open to you ? There is no 
escape, no hope of salvation elsewhere ; there is nothing 
before you but this awful condemnation to which you 
consider yourself appointed, and which you perhaps may 
escape if you make the trial. In any case, yield not 
like a craven who turns to flee, but stand your ground 
with bold front Persevere in looking upwards to God, in 
praying to Him, yea, in wearying Him 2 incessantly till 
you attain to that grace of which you now feel no sign, 
and scarce any desire. Be sure that our prayers will go 
up with yours, and be not the only one to distrust the 
event. Hope is the last abiding sign of life in God, despair 
the first of death." 

These last words seemed so to find their mark that 
presently he declared he would try. Many and long were 
his inward conflicts, insomuch that all who stood round 
were deeply moved, and prayers were offered to the throne 
of grace ; but nought seemed to avail, till, when they 

1 Opificium (Varro). 

1 Suspidendo, precando, carpendo, Cf. Luke xviii. 5. 



least expected, the light of Divine favour seemed to 
beam on his soul, not only soothing all his piteous cries, 
but filling him with a new and marvellous ecstasy of 
heavenly joy. 

Oh, with what exceeding gladness did all rejoice at this 
admirable and happy issue of so doubtful and terrible a 
contest ! 



IT was scarcely a month after these things that 
Apollos, passing along the street, saw a man the very 
image of Clemens. On scrutinising him more closely, 
the man at once joyfully approached him, and said : " O 
most lucky meeting ! You are the very man to help me. 
I have just come from the inn where I am lodging, and 
want to find Jacob's house. You come on the scenes 
indeed most seasonably, and your present aid will add to 
your many past favours." 

" Has the master come too, or are you alone ? " said 

" Oh ! he is waiting at Joppa till I go back to him." 

So Apollos took him direct to Jacob's house, where 
they had an interview with Eugenius and Politian, who 
were delighted to hear of the arrival of Angelus at Joppa, 
and as quickly as could be had their horses harnessed, 
and rode off to see him. 

When they arrived, they came into his presence with 
that courteous joy and filial respect due to a parent, but 
mixed with a little shame when they thought of their 
very foolhardy escapade. They only received some mild 
expostulations on that subject, and, as they now appeared 
so humble and submissive, were presently pardoned and 
received into full favour. Then the conversation turned 
on Jacob and Joseph and their hospitality ; and when 
Angelus heard how well they had been entertained, all 
his anxiety was turned into joy. And thus they pleasantly 




[Bk. VI 

talked far into the night, and on the following day set 
off for Solyma. 

When they drew near, they were met on the road by 
some of the principal citizens, and brought to the house 
which Clemens had meanwhile hired for them. Presently 
Apollos makes his appearance along with Joseph, and 
both are introduced by Politian to his step-father, who, 
knowing Apollos very well, greeted him, of course, first, 
and in a most friendly manner ; and then, advancing 
to Joseph, he expressed his great obligation to him for 
the many kindnesses shown to his boys, adding that he 
had been not only a friend and a brother, but a second 
father. Joseph pleasantly replied that the obligation, if 
any, was on his part, on account of their many acts of 
friendship to himself. 

The next day Jacob paid a visit, and as soon as Angelus 
met him on the threshold, accompanied by Apollos, he 
knew him, and saluted him with many kindly words. 
Then Jacob reciprocated, praising the two lads, and saying 
the assistance given to Apollos deserved all the little 
return he had made. He also spoke of Adrian, once 
his dearest friend, and ventured to prophesy that as 
Angelus had been his successor in the bonds of wedlock, 
he would also succeed him in the bonds of friendship. 
They then retired within the house, and in further con- 
versation Angelus said that he had heard his wife at 
home speak of this old friendship with Adrian when 
Apollos had spoken to them of Jacob And. thus, through 
daily meeting each other, and by the great affinity be- 
tween them in mind and character, there arose from 
such beginnings the highest friendship between these 
two venerable men. 

Meanwhile, the young men pursued their religious en- 
quiries with Joseph most diligently, especially Politian, 
who was comforted by the thought of heavenly joys, and 
humbly compared his own unworthiness with the glory 
and favour of God. He thought often on the gift of 
perseverance, and earnestly set to work to make up for 
his former life by special holiness. 


The experience of Eugenius was not so favourable, 
and once happening to meet Joseph, he told him what 
horrible sights and thoughts were in the habit of oppress- 
ing him thoughts hostile to Heaven, to Christ, to the 
Deity Himself. Joseph noticed a terrible and unusual 
look that he had, and, at once taking in the situation, 
said : 

" I know the cause it is the enemy of mankind, who, 
feeling himself cast out of his citadel, is now furiously 
besieging it. Nowhere does he show his craftiness more 
clearly than when he thus attacks us against our will 
by wicked thoughts ; but if our will does not yield, we 
may consider such trials more as punishments than as 
crime, and, indeed, our former wickedness is wont to 
be punished in this way here below. The great refuge 
is God, who alone can cast out the devil within us ; but, 
for your part, determine constantly to shut the eyes of 
your mind to such temptations. Engage in intellectual 
work, and dwell in thought on grand and noble subjects. 
Live not in a state of fear, for fear suggests what it 
dreads ; but turn aside from such temptations with a 
manly indignation, or trample them down and step over 

"What my special fear for you is, that when these 
horrible thoughts are vanquished, the persistent enemy 
may attack you with better chance of success in your 
carnal desires, and put you in greater danger." 

Here Eugenius, with a deep sigh, cried out : " Even 
now he has arrayed his whole strength against me, and 
so many horrid crimes are suggested, so many incentives 
to wickedness impressed upon me, that I seem to be 
dwelling in Hell 1 rather than among living men." 

Joseph continued : " By no means let him wear you 
out, or overcome you by fear. Presently he will perhaps 
use gentler and craftier methods, and will try to drag 
you into his net by some delicate and tempting bait ; 

1 Lat. in Erebo. An unexpected word here in such thoroughly 
Christian surroundings. However, John Milton chooses to use it in 
Paradise Lost, ii. 883, his great Christian epic. 

1 84 


[Bk. VI 

but do you prepare yourself, and determine neither to 
yield to his violence nor his cunning." 

Having calmed him by this advice, he took his leave, 
and, seeking out Politian, he began to enquire how he, 
too, fared in his inner life. 

" I now begin really to live," replied he, " and to see 
all things in a new light. If now I were to hear your 
instructive discourses again, they would not merely satisfy 
a craving for knowledge, but would build me up in 
practice as well." 

Joseph tenderly embraced him, and exhorted him to 
go on diligently in that same frame of mind, and be on 
guard against all the wiles of men or devils, and all the 
perfidy of his own mind, which was naturally inclined to 
be in league with such ; when he had once attained to 
faith, never to depart from it, and never to waver or re- 
lapse in the face of the strongest arguments and the 
sternest difficulties. " I will gladly advise you further ; 
it was a good wish on your part, and to accede to it will 
be a benefit to myself, as well as, I hope, to you. Now 
that Apollos is staying with us, I should like to take 
and introduce you to him, for he is a man, I readily 
avow, from whom I have learnt very much. He is 
indeed most especially learned in divinity, devoted to his 
books, and ever busy writing ; and in the midst of these 
occupations he instructs young pupils of good family with 
the greatest success. 1 Do you therefore go for Eugenius, 
while I go to ask Apollos to come and meet you both." 

Eugenius was soon found in his chamber writing out 
some verses he had just composed, and after a little 
delay Joseph and Apollos joined them, and, noticing the 
verses still lying on the table, Joseph, by leave of the 
author, began to read them out : 

" Hail, sacred day, for ever blest, 
Great type of our eternal rest,* 
Great gift of Christ our Lord ! 

1 A picture to the life of Thomas Young, Milton's early tutor. 

* In the Latin, aevi venientis imago. This is Miltonic in many 


On Heaven this day our hopes we fix; 
Though earth oft claims the other six, 
Today is God adored. 

"The bells resound, rebound and sound; 
From village, town, and hamlet round 

Their clanging tongues repeat : 
Come high, come low, come rich, come poor, 
With gladness cross your threshold o'er, 

Draw near with reverent feet. 

Heb. x. 4. " No bulls or goats on altars slain, 

No bloody sacrifices stain 

Our Christian house of prayer, 
But He who is our Light of life, 
Who shields us in our deadly strife, 
Doth meet His people there. 

" Inflamed with Pentecostal fire, 
Zion has left her ancient mire, 
Gal. iv. 9. Her "elemental" days; 1 

ways. The expression is referred originally to St. Basil the Great, 
who seems to have been a favourite father with Milton, as he quotes 
him several times in his Commonplace Book. 

Milton's tutor, Thomas Young, also, in his treatise on the Lord's 
Day, says (p. 401) that Christians are to "feed their souls with the 
pious thoughts of that eternal rest (of which the Lords Dayes rest is 
an image according to Basil) in the world to come." And again 
(p. 400) : "The Lord's Day (Basil the Great being witness) is an image 
of the world to come." 

But, best proof of all, we have Milton's own words about it in his 
De Doctrina Christiana. In discussing the reasons for keeping the 
Sabbath, he gives this as one, and, indeed, the only distinctly Christian 
reason amongst them all. " Fifthly," he says, " as a shadow or type 
of things to come (Col. ii. 16, 17) : ' in respect of an holyday, or of 
the new moon, or of the Sabbath days, which are a shadow of things 
to come ; but the body is of Christ.' Of what things to come the 
Sabbaths are a shadow, we are taught (Heb. iv. 9, 10), namely, of that 
Sabbatical or eternal peace in Heaven, of which all believers are com- 
manded to strive to be partakers through faith and obedience, following 
the example of Christ." 

1 The reference here is to the " weak aud beggarly elements " 
(orroixeia Gal. iv. 9) of the ancient Jewish faith and its ceremonial 
institutions. As for the "mire," each citizen of our New Jerusalem 
could truly say : " I waited patiently for the Lord ; He brought me up 


And now we know that God above 
Will, through His Son's redeeming love, 
Accept our prayers and praise. 

" As dying men our tongues declare 
Those everlasting gifts we share 

From Christ our Master given ; 
We hear His wonders, sing His love, 
While angels throng the roofs above, 

Our listening choirs of Heaven. 1 

also out of the mire and clay ; and set my feet upon the Rock [Christ 
and ordered my goings. And He hath put a new song in my mouth." 

Elsewhere in our Romance the text Gal. iv. 9 is referred to and 
translated by our concealed author in his approved independent fashion, 
using inopia to represent "beggarly." Milton also in his prose treatise 
Of Reformation speaks at the beginning of " the Jewish beggary 
of old cast rudiments." 

1 The Latin text is : 

Scilicet et superi circum laquearia Divi 
Pronis auribus adsunt ; 

that is to say : " Of a truth too the heavenly host of angels do throng 
the roofs (of our churches), listening to the services with eager ears." 
This seems rather a curious thought for a Puritan, more imaginative, 
idealised, and poetical than we should naturally expect. But it is 
withal thoroughly Miltonic. The word Divi points clearly that way. 
Dizn, or Dei, was the Miltonic appellation for the angels, who are 
entitled "gods" again and again in Paradise Lost and elsewhere. 
Moreover, Milton took the greatest theological interest in angels, and 
is supposed to have assisted Henry Lawrence in his Treatise of 
Angels published in 1646, and again in 1652. This, however, admits 
of no doubt, that Milton speaks in Christian Doctrine, c. ix., of 
people who held the opinion that there were " angels whose office 
it was to be present at the religious assemblies of believers," adding 
his own remark that " numerous examples in confirmation of their 
opinion are not wanting." Of course he means Scriptural examples, 
and consequently we may take it that Milton held this opinion also. 
The inner part of the tabernacle and temple was by God's appoint- 
ment to be adorned with cherubim (Exod. xxv. 18 and i Kings vi. 23), 
which was taken to denote the constant attendance of angels in the 
churches of God. And then there was the famous text I Cor. xi. 10, 
where the Apostle Paul charges women to be modestly attired (as 
many thought) in their Church assemblies "because of the angels," 
which supposes that the angels are ordinarily present there. 

The poetical idea that listening angels thronged around the vaulted 
roofs (laquearia) while the faithful were gathered together below for 


" We joy to know our Father's ears 
Are eager for His children's prayers 

In His appointed way, 
And so we join in heart and voice 
While in God's temple we rejoice 

On this our festal day. 

the ministry of the Word and the reading of Scripture was most likely 
connected with the beautifully carved angels which often adorned the 
fine old oak roofs of English churches in those days. 

As to angels, and the views advanced in Nova Solyma with regard 
to them, see what has been said before in Book III., where our 
author comments on the supernatural machinery of his Armada epic 
in terms very similar to those we should naturally accredit to Milton. 

There was a church at Cambridge where Milton might, and no 
doubt did, see the listening choir of angels. It was known as " Little 
St. Marie's," and was close by Peterhouse. When Crashaw, Milton's 
fellow-poet and contemporary, joined that college, we read of him, 
in the Preface to his Steps to the Altar, that he often " lodged under 
Tertullian's roof of Angels " in St. Marie's Church ; " there he made 
his nest more gladly than David's swallow neere the house of God," etc. 

And Peterhouse Chapel, too, had a beautiful roof adorned with 
angels, built between 1629 and 1631, while Milton was in residence 
at his University, this new roof being probably copied from Little 
St. Marie's, which church had served previously for the devotions 
of the college. 

But these beautiful angels were all gone when Nova Solyma was 
published. In 1643 a Parliament Commission went to Cambridge to 
remove crosses, and on December 2ist this Commission, with certain 
officers and soldiers, went to Peterhouse, and in the presence of the 
President and Fellows of the college they "pulled down two mighty 
great Angels with wings and divers other angells . . . and about a 
hundred Cherubims and angells and divers superstitious letters of 

This, I think, would have grieved Milton, iconoclast as he was in 
more than one way. For he was a lover of angels, and a believer 
in their reality, power, and attributes, if ever any Puritan was. They 
were scriptural there was no doubt of that ; so long as they were 
not worshipped, they deserved reverence and honour from Christian 
men. They fought for us, they listened to our earthly praises and 
songs, and knew that in God's good time we should join their choir 
above. How Milton and Lawrence would comfort themselves with 
these thoughts ! 

Crashaw's curious notice above of " Tertullian's roof of Angels " 
refers, I believe, to the fact that Tertullian was the first Christian 
writer who advanced the view that angels attended while faithful 


"To our great God then let us sing, 
For He created everything; 

He made us as we are ; 
And our Good Shepherd loves His sheep 
We are His flock, He doth us keep 

In His eternal care. 

"Rejoice in God ye people all! 
Rejoice in Him, both great and small, 

With gladness come before Him ; 
He doth us in green pastures feed, 
He doth to living waters lead, 

Oh, come, let us adore Him! 

"Oh, tune your tongues to grateful lays! 
Oh, enter then His courts with praise ! 

Oh, bless His holy Name ! 
For God is good ; His truth stands fast ; 
His mercy shall most surely last 

To endless years the same." ' 

When he had finished reading, Joseph looked towards 
Eugenius, and said : " I rejoice that you find time for 
such pursuits, and that you turn the pleasures of poetry 
to such profitable themes." 

" By God's help," answered he, " I am free from my 
old evil fancies, and dwell on purer and better themes, as 
you counselled me. There was a time, I am sorry to 
admit now, when I despised such subjects as dull and 

Christians were praying, in order to carry up the prayers to the 
Throne of Grace. Perhaps the author of Nova Solyma was here 
thinking of this beautiful ministry of angels in particular. Anyhow, 
it is a singular fact that among the very few Christian writers who 
embraced this opinion was Alcimus Avitus, Archbishop of Vienne, 
who wrote a poem on the fall of man in the fifth or sixth century, 
with which there is good reason to believe that Milton was well 

1 I take this to be one of Milton's early Latin lyrics, while he was 
yet dwelling with some degree of pleasure on entering the sacred 
ministry of the Church of England, and written before he was turned 
from his purpose by the thought that, under Laud and his bishops, 
he would have to "subscribe slave" and give up that Christian liberty 
that was so dear to him. We may notice that this hymn is not 
attributed to Joseph, but to Eugenius. 


tasteless ; but I have since learned to enjoy the Christian 
Sabbath, and, as you see, to sing its praises too." 

This allusion to the weekly festival made them all 
beg of Apollos to favour them with a discourse on the 
Lord's Day. 1 

1 Milton's early tutor, Dr. Thomas Young, to whom he owed so 
much in the formation of his character, wrote a special discourse on 
the Lord's Day the chief work, indeed, he left behind him. Apollos, 
the tutor in good families, who was appealed to by the rest as an 
authority on the Lord's Day, seems to point clearly to Milton's tutor, 
and therefore has some bearing on the Miltonic authorship, as is 
elsewhere more fully stated. 


A POLLOS, when thus pressed, gladly accepted so 
./I. congenial and useful a task, and thus began : 

" I do not intend to discuss the seventh-day Sabbath, lest 
I digress into Jewish questions, nor do I wish to burden 
your minds with knotty, congested disputations, especially 
so when all reasonable people agree that some regular 
customary time should be allotted to religious duties, 
that it should be pretty frequent, not carelessly observed, 
and not neglected, and yet not so observed as to prevent 
the necessary duties of life. 

" We must remember, however, that there is no intrinsic 
sanctity in any particular day. 1 

" The first Sabbath of all was divinely designed to call 
attention to a natural circumstance the setting apart, I 
mean, of that day for commemoration of the perfected 
work of creation, and for celebrating the praises of God ; 
but as for the Lord's Day, it was either put apart by 
the Apostles that it might supply the room of the ancient 
Sabbath, or newly used by them in honour of the Resurrec- 
tion, and for the services of Christian worship ; and as 
it has been handed down to us through so many genera- 
tions, it cannot be, or at least ought not to be, changed. 2 

1 This was Milton's view, for which see at length his De Docttina 
Christiana, ii. c. 7 ; Bohn's ed., v. 69. Channing on Milton, when 
referring to this opinion, says few have held this view. 

3 This is exactly what Milton's tutor says : " Surely he that saith, 
that so innocent a custome, so long received of the Church, and that 
through authority of God by His Apostles, ought not to be troubled 
with a change, seems to be in the right" (The Lord's Day: London, 
1672; Baxter's later English ed., p. 174). 



" The only controversy that some raise is this, whether 
it was appointed by a necessary and stringent command 
(from on high), or merely accepted by human arrangement 
and agreement ; or, in other words, whether it was en- 
dowed with a fixed institution and a peculiar blessing, 
or whether it only has its share in the ordinary and 
general sanctity which belongs to all sacred seasons duly 
appointed in the Church, such as fasts and festivals and 
other minor solemnities. 

" As to the method of observing the day, there is no 
disagreement. Our views are on broad and liberal prin- 
ciples, quite divorced from Jewish restrictions (hardly any 
command of the Mosaic Law had not something added 
to it as a fence); but the ordinary work of the week is 
suspended for the whole day. Surely this is reasonable, 
in spite of the many who oppose it, for since one whole 
day has been set apart for a certain purpose, it is right 
that each observer of the Lord's Day should fill it up 
completely with business suitable to the occasion. For 
why should profane or secular work be allowed in any 
part of this day, when it is totally forbidden on appointed 
fastdays? Surely it is not fulfilling the intention of the 
Sabbath to make it like a weekday, partly devotional 
and partly otherwise, whereas we ought rather to spend 
the entire day in religious exercises, varied, it may be, 
but still always of a devotional character. Is there possibly 
any better opportunity to make warm and revive that 
deadness and coldness which is so wont to fall on all 
absorbed in worldly aims ? Is it not peculiarly fitted 
for drawing joy and the peace of God from the wells of 
salvation ? Nor is there a more crucial test of a truly 
good-living man than that our poet has suggested. To 
such an one this day is a day of delights, consecrated so 
wholly to God, that his daily business, his daily pleasures, 
his ordinary talk, are all put in the background. 

<c It is most noticeable also that in every nation where 
this day is well observed, true religion makes progress, 
while wherever there begins to be a disregard of its 
sanctity, there also is the entering on the path of 


[Bk. VI 

downward ruin. Wherefore, since the real object of the 
day is a spiritual one, every endeavour should be in that 
direction, nor should we, with lazy good nature, follow 
in the footsteps of idle, unconventional people, but rather 
support and take pleasure in all that properly belongs 
to the day ; for when shall we take thought for our souls, 
if not on the day that is specially given us for this 
purpose? Who will long for a heavenly Sabbath who 
has no relish for the earthly one ? 

" It is not enough on this day to have heavenly thoughts 
we should have tJtem every day ; but we should also be 
free from that daily toil which God has appointed for 
us, and which He has been pleased to excuse on this 
one day of the week. All Sabbath work not enjoined 
by God is self-seeking, and displeasing to Him. 

" The Christian Sabbath is superior to the Jewish 
Sabbath in that the commemoration of our miraculous 
redemption and the other mysteries of eternity is of 
higher import than the commemoration of the Creation, 
and, embracing this world and the next, is a higher 
incentive to religious duty. 

"And there are various duties which have their appointed 
place in the religious work of the day, and by their 
variety and change they make it a holiday as well as a 

" The two principal are prayer * \_precatio\ and the 
ministry of the Word \jpraedicatio\. A true, heartfelt 
prayer places the soul in the presence of God. No sup- 
pliant can cling to the knees of him who is absent, and 
in prayer we solicit, we lay hold of, we embrace, we get 
very near to a present God. We are bidden to call upon 
Him as if He were present, though in the flesh we can 

1 Chapter x. of Young's book on the Lord's Day is devoted to 
the subject of prayer. There are many striking coincidences, espe- 
cially this one, that both in the text and in Young's work a prescribed 
form of prayer is virtually ignored, and the Lord's Prayer not noticed 
in Nova Solyma at all, and depreciated by Young. For Milton's similar 
views, cf. De Doctrina Christiana, iv. (vol. v. p. 31, Bohn's ed.); also 
Paradise Lost, v. 144, and Eikonoklastes {Milton's Works, i. 431). 


never see Him, nor are we permitted to make a graven 
image to represent Him. Wherefore, while nothing is 
easier to a hypocrite than outward, formal prayers, there 
is nothing that he shuns and dreads so much as inward, 
heartfelt prayers, for their power is such that they bring 
his sins into the presence of an awful Judge, and either 
become his cleansing fires, or harden him by degrees into 
a careless reprobate who renounces prayer altogether. 
Thus it is that good and holy men, after the commission 
of a great crime, often feel greatly disinclined to their 
old habit of prayer. 

" Nor does the earnest outpouring to God of our wishes 
fully constitute prayer, for then the mere natural cravings 
would seem to be a part of religion, just as by a popular 
fiction the young crows are thought to pray when they 
cry for food in their nests. Prayer is of a more spiritual 
nature that this, and must be combined with love, trust, 
and reverence ; God will not dispense with these. His 
ears are always open to us, as if He were waiting to hear 
us. If we pray to God, there is no need to pray to the 
saints ; and unless we pray to God first, there is little 
help to be hoped for elsewhere. But since God is perfectly 
just, and we mortals vile and unjust, and our very prayers 
tainted by our sins, it would be the height of impudence 
and folly to lay our impurities thus before Him, except 
the mediation of Christ were interposed. 

" Again, on account of our blindness and ignorance, 
both with regard to what is conducive to God's honour 
and our own happiness, it follows that there can be no 
complete love or trust without the aid of the Divine 
Spirit ; nor does God take heed of any prayer that is not 
offered up through the intercession of Christ, and by the 
ministry of the Spirit. Knowing this, we ought to empty 
ourselves of all self-righteousness, and, with a true feeling 
of our own miserable state, implore His paternal indul- 
gence towards us with every effort of our minds, and 
with a certain active, wrestling spirit, neither fainting nor 
failing till we be satisfied either in obtaining our request, 
or in the confirmation of our trust in Him. 

VOL. n. 


" But God will not hear us unless we obey His will. 
Let that be our highest object in all our prayers, for therein 
is united His glory and our salvation. 

" Each prayer we utter, each quick, passing thought, yea, 
every exclamation, sigh, or groan of ours, if so sent forth to 
God, is sure of an answer from Him in due season. 1 To 
feel doubtful, or to cease to look forward in hope for an 
answer, is to lose the chance of it altogether, and by a 
want of trust to turn our prayers against ourself. Prayers 
are not like tasks, which, when performed, are done with, 
and the conscience quit of them ; but all their efficacy 
lies in the subsequent and tenacious hope. As much as 
we truly pray for, just so much do we receive, for prayers 
are the surest merchandise we have to barter with God ; 
and if we are active traders in that respect, we shall find 
it more profitable than all the rest of our labours and 
studies. Nay, true prayer makes us more eager to 
work. He who asks anything of God, and tries not 
his best to get it himself, if he fails, has only himself 
to blame. Never forget that prayer and work should 
go together. 

" I would not say that a prayer sent forth on the 
spur of the moment when danger was pressing and there 
was every need to fight would be superfluous ; it would 
rather be an earnest expression of faith, and pleasing to 
God. Prayer is the closest communion we can have with 

1 "It is not necessary that our prayers should be always audible : 
the silent supplications of the mind, whispers, even groans and in- 
articulate exclamations in private prayer, are available " (Milton, 
Christian Doctrine, v. 33). 

" Though we know not what to pray as we ought, yet He with sighs 
unutterable by any words, much less by a stinted liturgy, dwelling in 
us makes intercession for us" (Eikonoklastes, i. 433). 

Sighs now breathed 
Unutterable, which the spirit of prayer 
Inspired and winged for Heaven with speedier flight 
Than loudest oratory. 

(Paradise Lost, xi. 5.) 

Here is the Quaker element in Milton's worship plainly displayed in 
his later life. And Nova Solyma shows us that it was there too in 
his earlier days. Cf. also Paradise Lost, xi. 30, 146. 

Ch. VII] ON MUSIC 195 

God we then pour out our soul into His bosom ; nor 
can we suppose anything more likely to move Him than 
our burning desire to be thus carried into higher union 
with Him. 

" I have not mentioned those sudden aspirations or 
flashes of the mind when our deepest thoughts seem to 
fly upwards to God, as arrows shot from a bow ; these too 
have their use, especially in doubtful and pressing matters, 
where the guidance of God is so eminently needed. 

" Allied to prayer, and comprehended by it, is the singing 
of psalms, which are often the highest form of prayer, and 
join us in a manner to the heavenly choirs above. 1 

" Music indeed has a subtle influence, yet so elevating 
and vehement that it seems to throw an enchantment on 
the mind, nor has God failed to include this natural and 
suitable instrument amongst the adjuncts of worship. Not 
that He can be charmed or softened by musical strains as 
we are, but because they quicken our devotion and give us 
heavenly transports. But vain is the finest melody, vain 
the sweetest concord of voices, 2 if there be no understand- 
ing of what is done, and no uplifting of the spirit. 3 

" The human voice is the fittest instrument wherewith to 
praise God : it is easy to use, and it acts in conjunction 
with the mind. It should be used in a lively and prayerful 
manner, so as best to express the feelings of a true and 
heartfelt religion, and if these are not present, ceremonies 
are in vain, for Christian worship is of a higher grade 
than the Mosaic cult, with its numerous festivals and 
ceremonies, which were in their way types of the inner 
feelings just described. 

" The ministry, or preaching of the Word, is either 

1 So says Young (The Lord's Day, p. 353): "The custom of 
rehearsing psalms in church is a kind of deprecating God." 

3 T. Young (The Lord's Day, c. xii) : "At least the ancients did 
chiefly regard that their singing might be understood of the people, 
lest through the sweetness of the voice in singing, without the pious 
affections of the heart, they should be deceived." 

3 There is a most remarkable coincidence here with Young, who 
was Milton's tutor. See more fully in the Introduction. 


exercised in public meetings or in private colloquy in the 
family circle. Christ used both. The first has more of 
authority and solemnity in it, for in a crowded assembly 
there is a certain enthusiasm lacking in a private house- 
hold, and more enthusiastic reverence. Teaching in the 
family circle has this peculiar advantage, that it can be 
more personal, more familiar, and can strike home better, 
for a man may avoid a blow in a crowd much more easily 
than in a hand-to-hand fight. At home each member of 
the family can be aroused by name, and there can be 
questioning, objecting, and supplementing, all tending to 
lessen the tedium and occupy the attention. 

"The only authority in all cases is Divine Truth, and 
the effectual working out of our salvation is due to the co- 
operation of the Holy Spirit. We are all of us bond- 
servants of the Truth. She is our mistress, whose slightest 
word of command is law to us. Liberty of judgment is 
conceded to us, and recommended ; but when once we have 
heard and acknowledged what we find to be true, we must 
reverently obey. Nor have I ever heard any sermon so 
poor that I did not get some benefit from it, 1 or notice 
something fruitful in it. In fact, I think it is the duty of 
a lofty and comprehensive intellect to carefully foster a 
certain simplicity of diction in his expositions, for it is 
only by what they understand that people receive benefit, 
and every important truth needs frequent repetition and 

"The sacred books are prepared for us by God in 
accordance with our limitations ; 2 if anything in them 
specially strikes us or arrests our attention, we should take 
it to ourselves as if the Holy Spirit Himself were personally 
addressing us. But many men of great natural talent have 
the very foolish and idle custom of only admiring their 
own writings and commentaries, and dwelling upon their 
own views, while as for the plain word of God as delivered 

1 Old Herbert had the same feeling as to sermons : 

The worst speak something good : if all want sense 
God takes a text and preacheth patience. 

Lat. pro dimenso nostro. 


from the pulpit by others, they give it scant attention. 
Surely this is to be seized with an itching for dispute 
rather than with a true desire for religion. 

" We prefer to ruminate upon our spiritual teaching, and 
change it into the very life-blood of our faith. 

" Besides using the ministry of preaching, we give our- 
selves to reading its best supplement, and of great service 
if carefully carried out and commented upon as we proceed, 
for the words of wise men are not to be carelessly ignored. 
But above all, the Word of God, the great exemplar of all 
that is good, is most worthy of our constant attention. 

"In all these matters we observe that Divine worship 
is used in what we may call a natural way, and acts on 
the same principle which we find so effective in public 
meetings or in parliament, where the minds of the auditors 
are swayed hither and thither by the breath of genius and 
eloquence. So God handles us men after our own nature, 
and places His Holy Spirit as the inspiring and guiding 
influence without whom no eloquence, no attention, no 
learning can avail aught. 1 

"In like manner the outward ceremonies of religion, the 
details of place, 2 time, manner of speaking, gesture, dress, 
and whatever else may belong to the visible expression of 
religious service, are all drawn from the workshop of 
Nature. The one comprehensive rule for these matters is 
that all things be done decently and in order, as with 
servants to the manner born, without any taint of illegiti- 
mate 3 or foreign superstition, or wonder-working properties 
that are unwarrantable. 

" There are certain religious rules, instituted by God, 
beyond the order of Nature. These are used symbolically, 

1 These observations strike me as very characteristic. Do we not 
here perceive those early opinions and religious views of him who in 
later life logically developed them into a semi-Quakerism and a devout 
dependence on the indwelling Spirit ? 

2 Paradise Lost, xi. 836. 

3 Adulterinus is the word used, a rather uncommon one, which 
Milton uses once certainly, and most likely twice, the copyist of the De 
Doctrina Christiana putting adulterio as the more common word. Cf, 
Bohn's ed., iv. 230, n. 7. 



[Bk. VI 

and are pointed out to us by God as a very blessed means 
of strengthening our faith. Since, however, this great 
virtue they have altogether depends on their being 
divinely instituted, all such Sacraments must not be 
accepted without clear Divine prescription. Christians 
have two Sacraments which seem even more important 
than any Mosaic rites, for these latter were only weak and 
beggarly l elements, obscurely pointing to the Messiah 
that should come ; the others announce Him already come, 
and point to yet a second coming. 

" Yea, even in Paradise God instituted two sacraments, 
as signs of the first covenant, to which those of the second 
covenant in some respects correspond. For Baptism 
absolves from the sin consequent on taking food from the 
forbidden tree, and the Lord's Supper is that sustenance 
of the saints of which " he that eateth shall live forever." 2 

" From what I have said it follows that to be partakers 
of the Sacraments requires a well-defined faith of one's 
own. 3 But we must always carefully examine for ourselves 
whether any religious practice is expressly and clearly of 
Divine institution, for sometimes modifications and addi- 
tional circumstances are adopted which do not seem con- 
sonant with the original institution. 

" This is the case with our day of sacred rest, which 

1 Lat. imbecilla et inopia. Author's own translation of Gal. iv. 9 

3 Coena Domini est sanctorum vitalis alimonia. A beautiful expres- 
sion, and by reason of vitalis certainly better than the phrase some- 
times used in church " O Manna of the Saints ! " for, as Milton himself 
says of the heavenly and spiritual Bread in the Sacrament, it is 
"heavenly in a higher sense than manna itself" (De Doctrina 
Christiana, iv. 414, Bohn's ed.). 

8 Hence we must infer that our author was an Anti-Paedobaptist. 
But so was Milton by strong conviction. Cf. De Doctrina Christiana, 
xxviii. 405-9, and also Paradise Lost, xii. 441. Surely this is strongly 
in favour of my hypothesis, for such heretics or sectaries were by 
no means numerous in England at this period, and were never 
important for their culture or position. They were bitterly persecuted, 
the last execution for heresy by burning being that of a Baptist, 
Edward Wightman, in 1612. The opinion is stated with the usual 
reserve in the text. 


should be separated from mundane business as far as the 
necessities of life allow it. On the other days of the week 
there should be no abstention from worldly affairs, but 
people should live in such a way as easily to pass from 
secular to sacred, and vice versd. That man is best able 
to carry this out who puts God first in both divisions, and 
makes Him the Ruler and Inspector of his whole life. 1 

" Many prudent and sober-minded men, urged on by 
a natural selfishness, make everything subservient to their 
own wishes, and, so long as they steer clear of worldly 
dishonour, do not mind about God's dishonour. But in 
truth, whatever draws us away from Him is a sin, and 
an act of dishonour to Him ; nor can we be surprised 
that such defaulters, caught in the meshes of their own 
desires, have the greatest difficulty in regaining true 
communion with Him. Now, that man who looks to God 
in everything, and depends on Him alone, whatsoever 
he may be called to do, he obeys with a placid, uncom- 
plaining mind. 

" On the other hand, there are some who are too 
scrupulous, and, to the detriment of true religion, neglect 
the common duties of life, and ruin their whole estate. 
But religion is meant for the whole man, body as well 
as soul, and is always a reasonable service, while such 
people are generally unreasonable and unserviceable. In 
their profession of holiness, which is their chief study, 
they show themselves curious triflers and prone to new- 
fangled doctrines, preferring the flowers of theology to 
the fruits. May you, my young friends, avoid both 
extremes ! " 

Here Joseph exclaimed : " That is excellent advice, 
for often youthful converts, in endeavouring to avoid the 
scandals of their past career, fall into such snares as you 

" Yes," said Apollos, " and some who are old converts, 

1 One cannot help thinking here of the fine sonnet Milton composed 
when twenty-three, and its last line : 

As ever in my great Task-master's eye. 



[Bk. VI 

of long standing, getting tired of the good old beaten 
path, strike out a new one for themselves. Desirous of 
being wiser than the ordinary Christian, they become 
puffed up in their own conceits, but, lacking prudence, 
brotherly love, and the real helps to good Christian feeling, 
they fall rather than rise. Others, without any religious 
foundation, start off with showy but foolish theories, and 
sometimes with the maddest fancies. They gain followers 
by the novelty of the thing at first, and sometimes by 
a certain high doctrine 1 suited to excite certain natures. 
Sects are formed, and such men become their leaders, and 
their chief raging and ranting is against the grave and 
serious-minded Christian. 

" These men are often most abandoned rogues, whose 
gross sin God often brings to light, or permits them by 
their excesses to be sucked down into the seething whirl- 
pool of lust. Some others of them have been in truth 
sober-minded men of good natural gifts, and by what 
craft or delusion they have come to adhere to such vain 
opinions I know not ; anyhow, they seem equally mad 
zealots as the rest, and their reputation helps to make 
fresh disciples. In their spiritual pride they imagine 
themselves to be the only perfect ones, and reject all wise 
advice with contempt ; even the holiest of men, if he 
should depart but one hair's breadth from their foolish 
practices and teaching, is of no account in their eyes, so 
one cannot either pity them or cure them. The only 
cure for such extravagances is to exercise a Christian 
moderation in our views and habits, not to think of 
ourselves as wise beyond what we ought to think ; and 
if we think ourselves the special objects of God's favour, 
let us on that very account show our humility and 
reverence all the more. But besides being cautious about 
ourselves, we must be on our guard against supposing 
any man, since the time of the Apostles, to be free from 

1 Referring most likely to the Ranters of those days. The best 
account I know of this odious sect is in The Lost Sheep Found, by 
L. Claxton (1660), a very rare book (penes me). It is not in the 
British Museum or Bodleian. 


error or infallible. It will not be enough for us simply 
to defend ourselves against the evil-minded men and the 
hypocrites we may meet ; we must take precautions in 
the matter of some good and honest-living people as 
well, especially if we are brought under their influence 
I mean such as dazzle the eyes of others by the glare 
of their superior sanctity, and lead them captive at will, 
and, which is their worst feature, arrogantly claim for 
themselves as their due the honours and services which 
they expect to be offered to their holy persons. 1 

" Lastly, as to the oracles of God which we call the 
Bible. Let us not be ever trying to soar to their heights 
or probe into their depths ; they are both beyond our ken. 
Let us rather dwell upon the obvious and well-worn truths 
it contains, for that will do us more real good, though it 
may not be so pleasing to our self-conceit nor so con- 
ducive to our worldly fame. This is a very common 
mistake nowadays. Men who cannot keep to the path of 
sound doctrine and the analogy of faith rashly take up 
some strange, high-sounding tenet, dwell deeply upon it as 
something that God wills, and then bring into practice 
some new form of worship, which they proceed to defend 
by their own selected texts ; and as for their adversaries' 
texts, they will have none of them. Every syllable and 
letter of God's Word which they can turn in their favour 
they hunt out with the zeal of a critic, especially those 
passages where texts taken separately without their con- 
text can be shown to be on their side, although the whole 
tenour of the passage is against them ; this last, of course, 
they craftily conceal. 

" God in His Word utters many things after the manner 
of men, even sometimes of uninformed men, and many 
things are expressed with a rhetorical fulness. As for 
the jots and tittles of the text, and the obscure con- 
jectures indulged in by many, it would be far preferable 
to affirm nothing except on most sure grounds. It is 
not for us to lay down the law about God's will, nor yet 

1 Milton and the bishops ! A very reserved reference, as usual. 



[Bk. VI 

in sloth and fear to cease to search for it. Our part is 
with sober reasonableness to gather together a genuine 
collection of all those texts and passages of Scripture 
which wholly and directly apply to the doctrine of 
Christian truth and the practice of the Christian virtues. 1 
If we hold to such a sacred and golden clue, we shall 
not miss our way ; but if once we lose hold of that 
Divine guide, we shall wander about hither and thither 
in the devious labyrinth of our own opinions. 

"Minds of a perfervid and vehement cast of thought 
are apt to fall into that show of sanctity mentioned above. 
They do not first consider with themselves whether it is 
right or expedient, nor do they perceive how corrupt 
and hurtful a crime is committed against humanity by 
their claiming the right of civil power to condemn in 
spiritual matters. 2 God allows the tares and the wheat 
to grow together, and not without lofty disdain leaves 
them to the final judgment ; but these men know not 
how to tolerate others, or even to pass them over in 
disdain ; nay (and this is their worst crime), they often 
seek by hellish devices to render aid (as they think) 
to Heaven. They allow violence and fraud and lying 
calumnies to be most righteous acts if only they be done 
for the sake of religion. 3 Such procedure must ruin the 
best of causes, and all the while they forget that obedience 
is what God most of all requires. Some of them are 
incessantly engaged in religious services, which is more 
than our nature was intended to bear, and encroaches on 
the work which is our portion here below. These forget 
that most indulgent command, ' I will have mercy, and 
not sacrifice.' * Others allied to them, by a perverted 
belief, go beyond the commands of God, just as the Stoics 
overstepped the laws of Nature, and are obstinately pre- 

1 This is exactly what Milton did, and he was occupied with this 
work more or less throughout his whole later life. The result was 
his posthumous De Doctrina Christiana^ and he makes the same two- 
fold division in it. 

3 Laud and the bishops again. 

3 The Jesuits are, I think, aimed at here, and their casuistry. 

4 Matt. ix. 13; Hosea vi. 6. 


pared to suffer any injustice rather than resist ; for they 
think it the mark of a good Christian to look to God 
above for righteous vengeance, and will not use the means 
God has endowed them with for that purpose. 

" Many, too, do not rightly distinguish in the cere- 
monials of worship those which have been introduced on 
emergencies, or rose from the needs of time and place 
long ago, from custom, from the rule of decent order. 
They consider them all of equal and the highest authority ; 
they will not accept the view that they are merely aids 
to devotion, but go so far as to hold them of equal 
authority with the Mosaic rites, which were expressly 
given by God. This is to fall back into superstition. 

" Not only this, but they undertake to perform miracles, 
in imitation of those special graces and gifts l ' which were 
bestowed on the faithful in the primitive times. If these 
deceptions are not a success, they have recourse to pro- 
phetical ecstasies and such- like practices, in which they 
often deceive themselves, being unable to distinguish 
between the work of the Holy Spirit on the minds of 
the faithful, guiding them into true obedience, and the 
mad impieties of their ecstatic visionaries. Thus they 
often fall into disgusting wickedness, and more often 
still into foolish errors. 

" The last and worst of all are they who annul, or at 
least make void, the law of God, and, professing to have 
received the grace of Christ, they so extend it as to 
cover and excuse their own wicked excesses. They are 
men of lustful nature, as a rule, troubled with a pricking 
conscience to begin with, and to keep this easy and quiet 
they have evolved for themselves this most outrageous 
opinion, and hold themselves free to enjoy every fruit 
of wickedness and to enjoy God's favour at the same 
time. 2 The whitewashed sanctity of such persons draws 
many to their side who lack penitence ; but nothing 

1 Lat. Virtutes coelitus dispensatae. He means the xapia-fun-a. 

3 The Antinomians, the Ranters, and similar sectaries. Some of 
these were influential in the army, such as Colonel Rainsborough 
and others. 


disgusts sensible people more than when these pillars of 
Divine truth break down under the wicked folly they 
try to sustain. Some are so cunning that, were it possible, 
they would deceive the very elect, whence it can be seen 
how doubtful and difficult a thing it is to hold a straight 
and even course in religion, where there are so many 
rocks and stumbling-blocks designedly placed in our way 
by malignant sophists, and so many quicksands to swallow 
us up if we do not take care. In fact, no one can with 
safety attain unto the end except under the governing 
impulse of the Spirit of God." 

The discourse being ended, Joseph first, and then the 
others, tendered their thanks for it, saying how much 
more was due to those who brought salvation to the soul 
than to those who helped their health or their prospects 
in life by advice which was paid for, and that he possessed 
the most abundant treasure who could dispense these 
insuperable benefits and lose nothing himself; and they 
hinted pretty plainly that his good things had not been 
wasted upon them. 



IN the mean time, Angelus was settling the affair he 
came about, which was, in brief, to arrange suitable 
laws to hold good for the merchants of both countries. 
Jacob proposed the desired measures, and they were 
passed readily, as being for mutual advantage. 

His business over, he was talking one day, just before 
he was leaving, to his sons about their travels, and about 
Jacob's family, and the story of their love came out almost 
by chance. 

" Yes," said Politian, " and it was just this grievous 
mistake that brought us, by God's better direction, to a 
saving knowledge of the truth. We have obtained pardon 
for ourselves, and now we ask for your forgiveness as 

Their father, who was vexed to hear what had happened, 
rebuked them gravely thus : 

" You know I have always inveighed against the 
clandestine amours of youth. They are wont to cause 
great disturbances in families, and have been the occasion 
of secret marriages, rapes, and even murder. Now, since 
marriage is, in a way, the granting of freedom to one's 
children, and the sending them forth into a new colony or 
home, it not only requires the consent of the parents, but, 
before that, it requires that they should be consulted. 
For they are interested in it as much almost as any one 
sons-in-law, daughters-in-law, grandsons, are all matters 
for their consideration ; then there is the dowry, the 




[Bk. VI 

patrimony, and the settlements. Certainly it can scarcely 
be expected that God will approve of that marriage of 
which the parents disapprove ; or can we hope for a 
happy family life with such an unnatural and perverse 
beginning ? 

" I am not one of those stern, unbending fathers who 
maintain their personal views as to money and good con- 
nections in preference to the wishes and convenience of 
their children ; but even suppose I had been most difficult 
to reckon with, it would have been better for you to have 
consulted your other friends, or the public officials who are 
appointed for the purpose, and in this way you would 
have had some vicarious authority to defend the hot follies 
of youth." 

Here Eugenius interposed with the remark that he 
had once thought of doing so, but that now, with his late 
experience, he had different views. 

Angelus, when they had gone, began to turn over the 
marriages in his mind, for the lads' candour had favourably 
impressed him. The young girls were excellent in all 
points, their family and fortune both good, and, on the 
whole, he was more inclined to think they would be too 
well off, if anything. 

The next time he met Jacob he delicately brought up 
the subject with his very old friend, excusing somewhat 
the lads' presumptuous ardour, but questioning whether 
Providence might not turn matters to their mutual benefit. 
Jacob received his remarks very pleasantly, saying he had 
noticed something of the kind before, and asked time for 
a little consideration. So he took counsel with Apollos 
and Joseph, and as one spoke favourably of their means, 
and the other of their good qualities, he willingly accepted 
the young men as suitors, and not long after he went to 
see Angelus in order to make final arrangements. They 
settled the dowry and patrimony between themselves, and 
left the other matters to their children. 

" Now," said Jacob, " we will hallow the memory of 
Adrian in Politian, and our own friendship in Eugenius." 

Angelus, pleased at the happy result, sent for the 


young men, and told them all. The spark of love had 
been all the while smouldering in their breasts, and now 
the thought of a free and lawful union raised it into flame, 
and their father's words seemed like rays of heavenly light 
breaking through their former gloom. They stood con- 
fused, as not able to realise such an answer to their 
aspirations, until the question came, " Are you willing ? " 

" Yes," said they ; " we have given up all our former 
unbecoming feelings, but there still remains a sense of true 
love, and we would satisfy it in lawful wedlock." 

" Now, therefore," replied Angelus, " you have the best 
possible chance, and, what is more, I should like to show 
you what an important matter matrimony is, much more 
so than the common, everyday incidents of life ; for the 
greatest part of a man's life depends upon it, and many 
future generations. In this weighty business, if you make 
a mistake, you must abide by it, 1 and it brings with it a 
new life, new cares, and new counsels. And here is 
another special feature in matrimony on the man's side 
viz. that while his own personality is born with him, and 
cannot be much improved by his own attempts, nor has he 
the right of choosing or refusing it, in courtship it is his 
alone to choose his other half, his second self, and to graft 
upon it at his own sweet will. Oh, what judgment, 
what consideration is needed here ! Some of both sexes 
are of such even and simple temperaments that they fit 
each other as well and closely as two straight-cut planks. 
Others, again, are very uneven, through excess or defect 
of certain qualities ; these are best mated with their 
opposites, and fit most easily in that way, as convex 
does with concave. Those to whom marriage brings the 
most happiness are the faithful, sober-minded, unbigoted 
couples. Those who are remarkably handsome or quick- 
witted, or especially able in any line of life, are not likely 

1 Angelus is speaking as an ordinary Englishman accepting the 
common view of indissoluble marriage. The Miltonic view of divorce 
is nowhere brought forward in Nova Solyma it would have revealed 
the author at once ; and, besides this, the book was written in Milton's 
bachelor days. 


to have such pleasant experiences, and even less likely 
are the effeminate and uxorious. 

" Civil discords are bitter enough, family ones are still 
worse ; but the most bitter of all are the quarrels of man 
and wife. However, if they come about, they can be 
made less by care and patience, for he would be a fool 
or a madman to let simple disagreement of temper 
separate him from her who in all else is associated with 
him as a helpmate. 

" Family life differs from celibacy just as much as 
public life differs from private life. The origin of kingly 
power is to be sought for in the patriarchal family life ; 
and even nowadays single families are like so many 
provinces of an empire, each governed by its own 
paterfamilias, who rules in accordance with imperial 
policy. It is strictly a monarchy : one presides over the 
many, one is the ruling counsellor, and one provides the 
means surely a noble and admirable arrangement. 1 

" Nor do I think a magnanimous man would hunt for 
an heiress rather than look for a suitably portioned bride, 
nor, if he captured an heiress, is he therefore to be 
considered so fortunate, for it is a husband's privilege 
to protect, cherish, and support his wife." 

With this advice, he left the matter for their 

Having thus obtained their father's consent, and ar- 
ranged between themselves which sister they should each 
choose, they went to Jacob and told, their love. Politian 

1 This was Milton's strong opinion. " What an injury is it after 
wedlock ... to be contended with in point of house rule who shall 
be head ! ' I suffer not,' saith St. Paul, ' the women to usurp authority 
over the man.' If the Apostle would not suffer it, unto what mould 
is he mortified that can?" (Doctrine of Divorce, iii. 247). Cf. 
Tetrachordon, iii. 324, 325, Paradise Lost, x. 46, etc., and especially: 

Therefore God's universal law 
Gave to the man despotic power 
Over his female in due awe, 
Nor from that right to part an hour, 
Smile she or lour. 

(Samson Agonistes, 1,054, etc.) 


asked for Anna, and Eugenius for Joanna, as their re- 
spective brides. 

The sisters were all this time quite unaware of what 
was being arranged ; l but what with their father's advice 
and their brother's persuasion, and the delicate and loving 
attention of the two really very good-looking young men, 
they were not long in yielding consent. They soon began 
to feel Love's ardent passion themselves, and burned with 
mutual fires. 

1 This is indeed extremely Oriental and Hebraic ; we should hardly 
expect such an arrangement in an ideal city from any Englishman 
besides Milton, who was in many things a Hebrew of the Hebrews. 
Whether this odd way of making love prevails in our large Jewish 
colonies in London and our commercial towns, I know not : I should 
be inclined to doubt it ; but it is a firm tradition of their race. As a 
great authority says : "It is the habit of all Jewish maidens, even if 
they be as much as twenty years old, to leave the arrangement of 
their marriage in the hands of their fathers ; nor are they indelicate 
or impudent enough to express their own fancies, and to say, ' I would 
like to wed such and such a one ' " (Israel Abrahams : Jewish Life 
in the Middle Ages, 1891, p. 166.). 



BUT a new and unexpected calamity now occurred 
which tended to unsettle very much their great 
general happiness. Joseph had appeared very restless 
and sick at heart, and for some days would pace up and 
down as if burdened by troublous thoughts, and sought 
solitude and silence in a way very unusual with him. 
One day he quite broke down, and Apollos, who happened 
to be near at the time, went up to him and anxiously asked 
him the cause of his evident trouble. It was a long time 
before he would reply ; but at last, in an access of grief, 
he cried out : " God, even my God, has forsaken me ! Oh ! 
why ask my sorrow ? " and then again he fell to weeping 
and groaning. Apollos stood speechless with wonder, 
trying to realise what this strange affection could be, 
while Joseph thus continued his mournful lament: 

" Oh, woe is me ! I seemed but now to live the envied 
life of communion with God and fellowship with His 
abiding Spirit. What heavenly pleasures I enjoyed, 
what lifting up of mind and heart, when the light of 
God's presence shone upon me, and He gave me to drink 
of the cup of His glory ! Alas ! like dreams have they 
vanished all, and oh, the loss of them ! None can tell 
that save he who once has know their fulness. Oh ! 
Apollos, there can be no sorrow like this sorrow ; there 
is nought I would not gladly endure, if only I could be 
again as once I was. But now God's wrath unveils itself 
deep to me, and His avenging arm doth threaten me, 
and His sword doth pierce through my inmost parts. 1 
1 Heb. iv. 12. 


My doom of toil is fixed for ever, nor can I see anywhere 
either salvation or a Saviour. Where is the fulfilment of 
the exceeding great and precious promises ? where is His 
promised mercy ? where is that redemption so special and 
so glorious ? and where the vanished hope of the heavenly 
kingdom ? All is to me now only as a tale that has been 
told, and when I go to it for needful help, I find no true 
power in it." 1 

" Stay," said Apollos, checking him. " It is you who 
are the one to be blamed, in that you blot out and destroy 
by one fell stroke the work of so many prayers and 
labours and tears, and are trying to bring down in 
common ruin with you the universal graces and hopes 
of all the saints of God. Nay, you spare not to charge 
God Himself and His Christ. You ought rather to make 
inquisition of yourself whether it may not be the more your 
failing of faith than any change of purpose in God. God 
may hide Himself for a little time, but He is of a surety 
not far off from that man who earnestly seeks Him. And 
so, I say, renew your faith, and take it up again as a 
sevenfold shield against every foe. Especially in the hour 
of darkness and conflict throw it not away, but fight 
securely beneath its protection, and by it you shall conquer 
triumphantly. Now we must endure the fight gladly, 

1 Oliver Cromwell seems to have gone through a similar internal 
conflict, and to have been haunted and tormented by such-like " ob- 
stinate questionings," in that period of his life between the years 
1628 and 1636. And Bunyan tells us that for a long time he was 
" in a forlorn and sad condition," afflicted and disquieted by doubts. 
" How can you tell if you are elected ? How if the day of grace be 
past and gone ? " said the inner voices. " My thoughts," he says, 
" were like masterless hell-hounds ; my soul like a broken vessel, 
driven as with the winds, and tossed sometimes headlong into despair " 
(Quoted by Firth in his Oliver Cromwell, London, 1900, pp. 38, 39). 
I think most earnest Puritans felt that they ought to have an experience 
of this kind at some time or other of their life ; it was considered 
almost a necessary part of the great scheme of their salvation under 
God's grace. The feeling seems still to exist, if we may judge from 
the kind of "experiences" that young ministers so often give before 
their ordaining elders and brethren. 


hoping for the glorious issue in God's own time. For 
this great virtue of faith hath in it somewhat of the infinite 
and the unconquerable, by which it is able to cut the 
Gordian knots of intellectual difficulties, and to hold itself 
above all the calumnies of its enemies. Add to your 
faith constant prayer ; wrestle with God, if He seem 
angry, with the most humble outpouring of your heart 
and voice ; wrestle, and you shall prevail." 

With a further outburst of grief Joseph replied : " I 
remember well when these were all in all ; but now 
the power and will have left, my wretched self, bereft of 
God, can neither lift up itself to Him nor seek Him, and 
when I try I am more inert than a stone. My misdeeds 
rise up and live again, and my foul passions, which I long 
despised and thought to be dead and buried, now attack 
me with renewed vigour, and oppress me in my weary, 
helpless state with irresistible force. What can I avail 
without a remedy or a helper against such legions of 
devils ? I seem to feel that repentance and faith are alike 
in vain." 1 

" But remember," replied Apollos, " that you are still in 
the land of the living, and that many precious hours, 
golden opportunities, are still left to you ; why waste them 
in idle grief ? The shipwrecked sailor fears not to put to 
sea again, and keeps a stricter watch ; so do thou commit 
thyself once more to the fathomless depths of God's counsel. 
Heed not that which doth beset thee now, and give ear to 
the words of a friend and counsellor. 

" This is no time for querulous delay, for a Fabian 
policy of sitting still. First ask yourself scrupulously the 
cause of such a change in you, whether it be any sin or 
fault, a weariness in your communing with God, a false 
security, a neglect of worship, or some other mark of a 
wanton nature." 

1 Here is vividly depicted that strange religious experience in which 
the soul passes at times from the height of ecstasy to an abyss of 
gloom. This state of mind is known to mystical writers as "the dark 
night of the soul." St. John of the Cross has a great deal to say 
about it. 


" Your advice is most excellent ; indeed," said Joseph, 
" I have already followed it myself in one respect, and my 
conscience has answered me, accusing me of a craving 
for excessive personal holiness, and for a due recognition 
of it among my fellow-men, and for being secretly dis- 
pleased with God, because He had not brought it to 
pass." l 

" Well," said Apollos, pleasantly surprised, " that is a 
good fault, and in part most praiseworthy. What can be 
better than our earnest desire for righteousness ? What 
can be more lawful than to ask God for it through the 
merits of Christ, and to hold to His promises ? But of 
course it is a sin if you seek it more for your own glorifica- 
tion than for the glory of God." 

" I know," returned Joseph, "we ought to seek and 
strive after the most excellent gifts of the Spirit, but it 
must be done with humility and patience, as beggars and 
suppliants. Christ Himself only gives by measure even 
to His elect members, and so He refused those who sought 
to sit at the right and left of His throne of glory. We 
must not of ourselves faint or fail in the search that were 
indeed a self-condemnation ; and if God seems to withhold 
Himself from working with us, we must still acknowledge 
His just will and gracious pleasure. To yield to sin is of 
course the worst that can happen, but still it is permissible 
even then to confess our human frailty as well as our 
shame, and they who with a right humility do so confess 
are not altogether without goodness towards God ; nay, 
more, this sober submission is much more akin to true 
repentance than is a proud and furious onslaught on all 
evil. But I have learnt this view only now, and meanwhile 
I am deservedly shut out from that grace of God on which 
I laid such sacrilegious hands." 

"In that case," said: Apollos, " since you know your 
sin, bewail it and guard against it. When the barrier is 
removed, grace will flow in a richer and more kindly 

1 Possibly Milton's own case in early youth, and the very way in 
which Young, his tutor (Apollos), met his pupil's confession. 


There was some further discourse, and at times Apollos 
prayed with him ; but it was of no avail : it did not seem 
that God would yet graciously visit him, or dispel the 
darkness of his soul by the pleasant light of His abiding 

Politian and Eugenius were often allowed to visit 
him, and were much disturbed at such an unforeseen 
event. They could not understand it. Was this the result 
of such a blameless life ? Could this be he who had 
been a spiritual comfort and help to so many in their 
troubles ? Why are his own specifics so useless for his 
own case ? 

Apollos, noticing their dismay, took them out of Joseph's 
hearing, and thus explained : 

" My sons, this is God's doing, and it is marvellous in 
our eyes ; but He often acts by opposites, and things are 
not what they seem. God here wishes to put before our 
eyes the vanity of all things in themselves, yea, even 
of faith, in order to show us that its virtue altogether 
depends on Him who gave it, not on any intrinsic quality 
of its own. It is the trusting in the Author and Finisher 
of our faith alone which will give us sure hope, and 
victory too, amid the greatest dangers. Wherefore God 
puts His most valiant soldiers to this great test, to subdue 
their spiritual pride, and to fill them, as vessels newly 
cleansed, with a fuller grace and a deeper love. I have 
no doubt about the issue of this trial, and do you await 
it with patience. Meanwhile, let us neither prejudge nor 

When they separated, Eugenius, feeling troubled in his 
thoughts as to the uncertainty of all things in this world, 
began to fix his mind on that awful day which shall show 
the certain final condition of all, and shall exhibit among 
the damned many whom we now call saints, and shall 
number with the blessed some whom now we all condemn ; 
for then to each and every shall be apportioned their true 
place and order for ever. 

Filled with these thoughts, he rapidly threw off some 
lines in which he introduces the Archangel calling forth 


from their tombs the dead bodies of all mankind, and 
raising them to life by the trumpet-blast of God. 1 

1 An unusual Latin metre is used here, for which see the Latin 
poems. The lines may be paraphrased thus : 

Arise from your dark resting-places in Earth's wide bosom, and wheresoever 
else your ashes have been scattered, arise and come forth, one and all. 

From the funeral pyre, from the mortuary urn, from the depths of the sea, 
and from the bowels of its fishes, yea, from the bodies of cannibals, come. 

And let bone be joined to bone and flesh to flesh, as God did once fashion them. 

Come, too, and join the universal throng, ye blessed spirits which through the 
courts of Heaven do fly ; 

And ye also come who are in exile far within the barriers of the infernal 
dungeon shut. 

O ye mortals, who shall henceforth die no more, hear now in your tombs the 
trumpet's dreadful blast, 

And hear the voice of God that calls you from the dead ; 

Come forth and stand, both small and great, before the judgment-seat of Christ. 

All must appear, 

From that primeval father of the race, 

Who dared to pluck of the forbidden tree, 

To his last offspring, doomed liked him to die. 

All must appear ; 

All shall according to their needs be judged. 

Shall a man have mocked God? Then shall the Lord have him in derision 
on this day. 

Shall a poor sinner have wept bitter tears and cried for mercy in that his day ? 
Now shall he joyfully see how good God is in His day to those who have called 
upon Him. 

The tyrant shall not be able now to wield his sceptre, nor to oppress the poor 
and helpless ; each shall have his due rendered to him, and where he is placed, 
there shall he remain. 

And One shall reign over all, even He whom the world knew not ; and He 
shall reign till time shall be no more. 


NOT many days after they happened to call upon 
Joseph when he was lying in bed, and so intently 
occupied in prayer that their entrance did not disturb him 
at all, nor did he even move his upcast eyes to notice 
them. Then did they hear him thus wrestle with God : 

" O my God, before Thou dost execute Thy judgment, 
and condemn me to death, let me put in my plea before 
Thee. What is it that Thou, I ask, canst so much desire 
in respect of me? Is it victory, or praise, or advantage 
that Thou canst want ? Behold me at Thy feet, an abject, 
conquered suppliant, and if it be to Thy liking I offer my 
throat to Thy avenging sword. Thou hast the power and 
the right ; I do not dispute Thy just will I rather admire 
and praise ; and shouldst Thou plunge me into the nether- 
most Hell, even there I should have this solace at least, 
that my utter misery would be for Thy glory. 1 But 
consider, I pray Thee, whether it is as much in accordance 
with Thy state and dignity to strike down a puny mortal 
already in abject submission at Thy feet, and to slay a 
wretch almost at his last gasp, when Thy infinite vengeance 
can in no way be satisfied with such punishments, even if 
supplemented by the undying pains of Hell. Does this, I 
ask, as much become Thee as a free pardon, and the 
loving-kindness in which Thou takest pleasure, accepting 
the ransom paid for me by Thy dear Son ? And if this 
offence be a pardonable one, and still under Thy averted 

1 Here, in its most pleasing aspect, is that terrible dogma of 
Puritanism which is fortunately now nearly a dead letter. 


Bk.VI,Ch.X] "CAUGHT UP" 217 

countenance there is the unruffled love of a heavenly 
Father, why dost Thou keep me in this sterile and dead 
state ? What can it profit Thee ? What pleasure or fruit 
can arise from it to Thee ? I speak not of my own solace, 
and the joys whereof I might partake with Thee joys I 
would not change for all the kingdoms of the world." 

Here his voice somewhat failed, as if choked by the 
rapid, burning thoughts and wild strivings of a rising 
faith, and he lay a-thinking for a time in deep silence. 
Presently, scarce master of himself for joy, he cried out : 

" He comes ! He draws near ! He is present with me ! 
even He whom I have so long craved for ; and He has 
brought into my poor, dark soul the clear light and glory 
of Heaven. Now do I see Thee and feel Thee, O my 
Saviour; now does my soul fly to Thy embrace. 

"Oh, the wonder of it, that I, so nearly lost, should be 
overwhelmed with this flood of joy! Oh, the amazing 
power of Divine love ! who could have believed it ? How 
vain and foolish are the praises that men sing of earthly 
love ! thai is but the union of mortal bodies ; this is the 
utter absorption of the soul and spirit. My Brother, my 
Spouse, my Lord, and my God, the light of the Infinite 
Glory shines in Thy face, and every grace is present 
there. 1 Who, for Love's sake, ever went through labours 

1 One interesting and new fact that I think we may learn from 
this and several other passages of Nova Solyma is this. Milton was 
occasionally caught up to Heaven the Heaven of spiritual ecstasy, 
I mean. Be it remembered I speak here only TOI? o-weroto-t; others 
will misunderstand the allusions. Milton seems to be one of those 
few favoured mortals to whom has been on some occasions vouchsafed 
the " Vision of Adonai." Milton was a born poet and a born Platonist, 
and so a good subject for the manifestations which seem to lift us 
out of the body. 

Plotinus and Porphyry, and possibly others of the Neo-Platonic 
school, enjoyed the great manifestation, but have left no detailed 
account ; and there are but allusions in Nova Solyma, but they are 
sufficiently clear, and bear the stamp of undesigned genuineness. 

The great prophets of Israel Isaiah, Ezekiel, and Daniel and the 
Apostles of the later Israel of the New Covenant Peter and Paul and 
John the Divine were favoured mortals to whom it had been given 
to pierce through the obscuring veil of our grosser material nature, 


and sorrows like Thine ? O inestimable and infinite 
gift of God, Thou bringest with Thee all things, earth 
and Heaven and immortality, and the great God who 
made them all. Oh for that happy festal day when this 
dull, earthly clod shall wake from its long sleep of death 
and rest in Thee, O God ! Then shall I be clothed upon 
with a form and power that is of Heaven, when no longer, 

and to see not God indeed, for none could see Him and live but 
the glory of God and the brightness of His light. Many of the 
ecstatic saints, men and women alike, were partakers of these favours, 
and Socrates, Pascal, and Swedenborg must be numbered with them 
also. I am no member of the New Jerusalem Church of Emmanuel 
Swedenborg, but I do wholly agree with one saying of that learned 
and high-minded seer when speaking of such experiences. " The world 
is not worthy of them," he said ; or rather, for his lips were not attuned 
to English speech, what he really said was, " De vurld ist nod vurdy 
of dem " ; but Truth is sacred under the most grotesque mask, and 
we admire both the man and his communication. 

The names given to the great manifestation are various " the 
Vision of Illumination," "the Vision of the Ocean of Light," "the 
Vision of Adonai," and other names such as men's failing and unequal 
tongues have chanced to use when speaking of it. 

In very recent times three " adepts " have given to the world fuller 
details of this " Vision of Adonai " two in prose and one in daring 
verse. As the literature on this subject is not much known or read, 
1 may be pardoned if I give some short extracts and point out where 
the accounts may be found by those who care to know (" Respiro " : 
The Brotherhood of the New Life, V. ii. 62, 63, 70, etc.). 

What happens to the favoured " subject " is somewhat as follows 

" Under the impulsion of the mighty enthusiasm engendered in him 
of the Spirit, the constituent molecules of his system become more 
and more completely polarised towards their Divine centre, . . . and 
soon he passes the cherubim, the guardians from without of the 
celestial, and enters within the veil of the Holy of Holies. Here he 
finds himself amid a company innumerable of beings, each manifestly 
Divine, for they are the angels and archangels, principalities and 
powers, and all the hierarchy of the ' heavens.' Pressing on through 
these towards the centre he next finds himself in presence of a light 
so intolerable in its lustre, as wellnigh to beat him back from farther 
quest. And of those who reach thus far, many venture no farther, 
but, appalled, retire. . . . 

" Enshrined in this light is a Form radiant and glorious beyond 
all power of expression. For it is ' made of the substance of Light. 
This is the Lord Adonai." 

There is much more revealed, not directly to the present purpose, 


as now, shall it weigh down the soul with its gross 
impurities, but, being equally cleansed and redeemed, it 
shall be a helpmeet for the soul, free from earthly bonds 
and sensual longings. In such a fit and glorious vesture 
shall the mind of man, pure and unshackled, be able to 
flit as a bird at its own sweet will through all the spacious 
courts of Heaven, and each glorified saint shall give forth, 

by this modern seer, who was an educated lady, and has only lately 

Another favoured modern seer, a man this time, thus describes his 
vision : 

" I found myself confronted with a glory of unspeakable whiteness 
and brightness, and of a lustre so intense as wellnigh to beat me 
back. ... I knew it to be the ' Great White Throne ' of the seer of 
the Apocalypse," etc. 

The third and last seer, a poet, and still alive, had the vision several 
times, and it is variously described in prose and verse by him in 
different voluminous works. I will give a short specimen in verse : 

Up, like an eagle to the sun, 

My spirit rises to God's throne. 

I think of God ! My thought becomes a zone 

Of sevenfold light. All-glorious, throned therein, 

Shine pictures of immortal Seraphim. 

My spirit rises to a spirit-sphere 

Whose crystal floor is interfused with fire ; 

Immortal harpers gloriously appear, 

Each calling music from a heart-shaped lyre, 

All circling round a shrine 

Filled with ineffable light from One Divine. 

Out from the shrine come thunderings and voices, 

Whereat the angel-host as one rejoices. 

A sevenfold shaft of elemental light 
Flows downward from the face of Deity ; 
Earth feels the spirit of the Infinite, 
I view the darkness fade from land and sea. 

Of these three modern ecstatical seers, the first (the lady) saw the 
Vision of Adonai twice, the second once, and the third (the living 
poet-seer) absolutely beheld it nine times in thirteen years. I know 
I am treading on delicate ground. I know that " inextinguishable 
laughter " is the frequent accompaniment of such occult recitals ; but 
I would submit that such psychical effects, though most rare, "do 
happen " that possibly Milton had his hidden experiences ; and I would 
further submit that although the evidence is not ripe enough for 
a verdict, yet that doctors and scientists are the most likely men to 
arrive at some solution of the mystery not the theologians. 



[Bk. VI 

as doth a lantern, his own inner light. For all shall be 
illumined from the Fountain of Light, even as the eye 
is by the sun, and all shall enter into the very joy of 
their Lord, for His joy shall be theirs. 

"Oh, joy that knows no ending, so perfect, pure, 
and clear! yes, pure and clear then, for all sediments 
and dregs of earthly pleasures will have been drained 
away. And oh, the heavenly banquet, what, too, must 
that be like begun at so great a cost, even the pulling 
down of the whole realm of Nature ! l What good things 
must God have in store for such guests! 

"Ah! now I seem to see that last great day, and all 
the pomp of majesty. Accompanied by myriads of angels, 
my Friend, who is also my Spouse, goes forth from His 
palace, both in mien and vesture a King of kings. Before 
the throne are assembled all the tribes of the earth of 
every age and race. On one side there is the far greater 
number, and among them tyrants and great men cowering 
in their fear ; on the other side there are the saints 
shouting for joy, and yet wondering that their simple 
faith has exalted them to such a great reward. I see 
the damned hurled, together with their tormentors, into 
the flames of the burning world, and then the whole 
great army of angels and saints pass in triumph through 
the gate of Heaven. And in their midst they have with 
them their Leader and their King, and as they bring 
Him back in joy, thus do they shout and sing : ' Praise 
ye the Lord. Sing unto the Lord a new song, and His 
praise in the congregation of saints. Let Israel rejoice 
in Him that made him : let the children of Zion be joyful 
in their King,' " etc. 2 (Psalm cxlix. to end). 

1 The palace made for man, as before stated more than once. 

* It was one of the ancient songs of Zion that Joseph seemed to 
hear in his ecstasy. It was Psalm cxlix., and according to the historical 
conscience he should have heard it in Hebrew. However, our text, 
of course, gives it in Latin, and a very fine and singular Latin lyric 
it is, consisting of a glyconic, an asclepiad, and an hexameter in the 
order named. This metre seems to have been an invention of our 
author, for I cannot find any other examples. But of this there can 
be no doubt the metre and the psalm are most effectively chosen. 

Novae Solymac 

eft illud apparaii convivium , quod inchoabitui 1 
tot remm difpendio & univerfse nature exitio? 
Videre vifus fum cceleftem pompam, & fupremi ju. 
diciidiem, cum ille amicus & fppnfus mcus prodi- 
bit e cceli palatio, regia fronte , rcgio cnltu con- 
Ipicaus, ac mille millibus Angelorum ftipatus : turn 
univcrfa mortalium fecula , & omnium populorum 
greges coram folio eonfiilentium : iftinc multo ma- 
ximam mulcitudinem ; & in iis, tyrannos ac pfinci- 
pes viros, ftupentes- ac pavitantes mctu : hiocexul- 
tantespbs, & humilitatem fax fidei mirantes tarn 
ingentibus praemiism imraenfum attolii. Video ju- 
dicatas,-&damnatasgentes fimul in ftii orbis incen- 
dium, cum infernis tortoribus, prsecipitari - y dum in- 
terea omnis (anclonim militia, fummistherisoftiura 
ingrefla, triumphantem in medio Duccm cum ingen- 
ti plaufu & concentu rcducat. 

LaHdewfts Dominant Deum : 
Lattdewus 'Dominum ccetibtts infacrts ; 
Ctntibns mfolitis) & mult a lajtde fonandum. 

Dilefti downs Ifaci 
jftitorisfatrionuminegattdeat : 
Plaudaf ob sternum gens tota Sionia regent. 

fJttnc canttt celebrent chori, 
Et clarttm merit a nomen adore A 
Concordes cithar^fttlfata^ tjmpana toll Ant, 

Ittis nam fater optimtes 
Indulget, placidis pronusajnoribtti : 
dtque humiks pvtchrts attolllt in Atkera donts. 


[To fact p. sac. 


While Joseph was pouring forth this flow of words, with 
a strange, ecstatic ardour of countenance and voice and 
with unwonted gestures, his visitors were standing by in 
silent wonder for a time. But soon the flame spread, and 
their spirits too were kindled and burned within them, and 
they were as men in a dream, hearing and seeing along 
with Joseph all that was being done at that last great 
tribunal of God. 1 

Soothed by this heavenly vision, and thoroughly worn 
out in body and mind by past excitement, Joseph now fell 
into a deep sleep, so deep, indeed, that they began to fear 
that it might be the sleep of death. However, he soon 
showed signs of life, and gradually revived and got better, 
till at length he was restored to more perfect health and 
vigour than even he had enjoyed before. 

Who could sing that psalm with greater fervour on " that Great Day " 
than the children of Nova Solyma ? " For if the casting away of them 
be the reconciling of the world, what shall the receiving of them be, 
but life from the dead ? " Such a fine and singular metrical composition 
is one more addition to the cumulative proof of Miltonic authorship. 
It will compare favourably with the renderings by Buchanan and 
Johnston, which is no small praise. They indeed are past masters 
by general consent in their skill in clothing the rugged Hebrew with 
the softer garb of Latin elegiacs and lyrics ; but Milton's ear for 
harmony is unrivalled even by these. This will be able to be further 
exemplified in parallel passages in the Appendix of the Latin poems 
of Nova Solyma (Excursus K). 

This psalm was a great favourite with the warrior puritans, and is 
introduced here as a grand triumphal Paean when Joseph seems to 
hear in an ecstatic dream the song of the redeemed army of saints 
as they accompany their great Leader and Captain "through the gates 
into the city." It is a psalm, too, of great historical interest, for it was 
by its means that Caspar Scioppius, in his Clarion of the Sacred War 
(Classicum Belli Sacri), a work written, it has been said, not with 
ink, but with blood, roused and inflamed the Roman Catholic princes 
of Europe to the Thirty Years' War. It was by this also that Thomas 
Miinzer fanned the flames of the War of the Peasants. It has the 
unalloyed Old Testament smiting vigour, such as possessed Judas 
Maccabaeus the Hammer, and the more modern Cromwell. 

1 Dissolve me into ecstasies, 
And bring all Heaven before mine eyes. 

(Il\Penseroso, 165.) 



NOT long afterwards the day drew near for the 
annual election of the magistrates for Zion. A 
general assembly was convened, and the result was that 
Jacob, by a very large majority of all ranks, was chosen to 
be the Father, or Chief, of the Senate, which is the highest 
honour in the city. Joseph was elected Leader, or Chief, of 
the young men, 1 and Joanna was chosen to be Daughter of 
Zion. Moreover, since the day fixed for the weddings was 
not far distant, and seeing the result of the elections, it 
was agreed to have the weddings on the same day as the 
great national holiday, this being a convenient day in 
every respect. 

The annual celebration day was at the beginning of the 
third month, which they called Sivan. This year it was a 
glorious sunny day ; all the elements were favourable 
there were no troublesome, blustering winds, no unpleasant 
showers of rain ; in fact, not a cloud dimmed the lustre 
of the sun or disturbed the liquid blue of the ethereal 
sky. 2 

1 I Kings xii. 6-15. 

3 Lat. liquidissimi aetheris faciem turbccvit. 

There I suck the liquid air. 

(Comus, 980.) 

And God made 

The firmament, expanse of liquid, pure 
Transparent elemental air. 

(Paradise Lost, vii. 263. ) 

" The ethereal sky " also is a favourite expression with Milton in 
Paradise Lost. Liquidum aether is of course classical ; cf. Virgil, 
Aeneid, vii. 65, etc. 

Bk.VI,Ch. XI] A PAGEANT 223 

By early morning all due preparations for the annual 
ceremonies had been made inside the great central temple, 
where the extensive courts had been suitably utilised and 
decorated. It was here that Jacob was instituted in his 
high office with all the accustomed formalities. 

In the city, along the route of the procession, the walls 
were covered with tapestry hangings, and the doorposts 
with wreaths of flowers. Each doorstep and window and 
every roof was crowded with people who had come to 
enjoy the great sight. 

When all was ready, there were sent forth from the 
temple twelve trumpeters, followed by as many heralds, all 
on horseback, riding two and two. The trumpeters were 
arrayed in blue jackets with silver stripes, and a cloak of 
similar pattern and texture ; the heralds had long robes 
reaching to their feet, and military cloaks, severally 
embroidered with the ensigns of the twelve tribes. They 
took their position in the nearest roadway, and when the 
trumpeters had sounded a triple blast, the leader of the 
twelve heralds, whose cloak was ornamented both in front 
and on the back with the device of a gold lion on a 
scarlet ground, read in a loud voice this proclamation : 
" Blessed are the people who are as we are ; blessed are 
the people who have the Lord for their God. Come ye 
all and behold. Rejoice with gladness and with prayer, 
that these blessings may be yours and your children's for 

To this message, gravely delivered, there was returned 
by the huge crowd a mighty shout of approval, and so the 
horsemen passed on along the streets, while there spread 
on all sides a deep silence of expectation until the 
procession should come in sight. 1 

1 This pageant, which is so admirably described in clear and nervous 
Latin, is an episode of Nova Solyma far more Miltonic than would 
appear to the ordinary reader, and the reason is this. Nearly all the 
biographers of Milton have overlooked or disregarded an excellent 
suggestion which he offered to the authorities of the State at the 
beginning of his second book on Church Government. He submitted 
that they should refine "our high tides and solemn festivals," so as 


First came a knight clad in armour, having on a breast- 
plate of silver scales and a drawn sword in his hand. He 
was careering here and there on a spirited, pirouetting 
horse to clear the roadway for the procession, and to keep 
the people behind the erected barriers. It was our friend 
Alcimus, who had been elected Praefect of the Civic Guard, 
and behind him, drawn up in lines so as to cover the 
whole width of roadway, marched a hundred tall, well- 
built men with short, dark blue capes on their shoulders, 
stamped for distinction with the devices of silver angels. 
They had spears in their hands, tipped with the same 
metal, and from these ribbons of a gold-red colour streamed 
in the wind. Next followed the city militia marching in 
order, a good long line, and then Augentius, at the head 
of two hundred young boys of the best families, mounted 
on white ponies. The dress of the boys was of green 

to render them instrumental to purposes of general improvement, and 
a way of conveying instruction to the public. This refinement was to 
have for its model the panegyrics, or festal conventions, of the famous 
days of Greece, which, Milton rightly argued, would cause much more 
healthy social good than the carrying out of the Book of Sports, or 
the allowance of unrestrained vulgar amusements among the lower 

Milton's words are as follows : " Because the Spirit of Man cannot 
demean itself lively in this body without some recreating intermission 
of labour and serious things, it were happy for the commonwealth, 
if our Magistrates, as in those famous Governments of old, would take 
into their care . . . the managing of our public sports, and festival 
pastimes, that they might be, not such as were authorized a while 
since, the provocations of Drunkenness and Lust, but such as may inure 
and harden our bodies by martial exercises to all warlike skill and 
performance ; and may civilize, adorn, and make discreet our minds 
by the learned and affable meeting of frequent Academies and the 
procurement of wise and artful recitations . . . that the call of Wisdom 
and Virtue may be heard everywhere, as Solomon saith, ' She crieth 
without, she uttereth her voice in the streets, in the top of high places, 
in the chief concourse, and in the openings of the gates.' Whether 
this may be not only in Pulpits, but after another persuasive method, 
at set and solemn Panegyrics, in theatres, porches, or what other 
place or way may win most upon the People to receive at once both 
Recreation and Instruction, let them in Authority consult." 
. Is it not pretty clear that the describer and inventor of the pageant 


byssus, tunics with long sleeves all elaborately adorned 
with leaves and flowers in fine needlework, and in their 
right hands they carried a light javelin bedecked towards 
the point with fresh flowers. Accompanying these was a 
huge, lofty machine shaped like a globe, which seemed 
to move along with them of its own accord, but there 
were concealed beneath it men who carried it. It was 
of some transparent material like crystal, and seemed to 
hang freely in the air ; and the interior, except the very 
centre, was perfectly visible to the eye, and the various 
heavens of the Ptolemaic system, with all the orbits of 
the planets, and the winds and clouds, and the surface 
of the small central globe representing the earth, could 
all be taken in at a glance. 

Next came two hundred freeborn youths, all under 
the age of seventeen, wearing the purple-bordered toga, 
mounted on ambling genets, and led by Auximus. Their 

in Nova Solyma had the same idea of the value of authorised public 
festivals that Milton expressed above, even to the call of Wisdom and 
Virtue uttering their cry in the streets : " Blessed are the people who 
have the Lord for their God. Rejoice with gladness and with prayer, 
that these blessings may be yours and your children's for ever " ? 

In poetry, too, as well as prose, does Milton show his interest in 
such sights : 

And pomp and feast and revelry 
With mask and antique pageantry ; 
Such sights as youthful poets dream 
On Summer eves by haunted stream. 

(L Allegro, 127-30.) 

And then his well-known Roman pageant : 

Thence to the gates cast round thine eye and see 
What conflux issuing forth or entering in. 

(Paradise Regained, iv. 61, etc.) 

It was this latter that Mr. Morley alluded to in his speech just after 
the Duke and Duchess of York had arrived home from their voyage in 
the Ophir, and entered London, November 2nd, 1901. The decorated 
streets and the surging crowds near Victoria Station recalled this 
fine passage of our great poet to Mr. Morley's mind, and he drew 
the attention of his audience to it. The allusion was scholarly, apt, 
imperial, and it went home ; but, strictly speaking, it wouldhave suited 
the late Queen's Jubilee more closely : every detail of the passage 
would have had its parallel there. 

VOL. II. 15 


white-and-purple dress, also of byssus, was admirably set 
off by interwoven threads of gold, and each one held 
before him a simple, plain shield. Each had two attendants 
of the artisan class on foot, and they too had on a gay 
parti-coloured apparel in wavy stripes of red and yellow 
patchwork. 1 

Farther on came Alphaeus and the public lecturers and 
professors, including Apollos, who had been recently 
received into their number, each in his separate state 

Close behind followed a huge construction, a model of 
the Deluge. On the flat surface, representing the surface 
of the waters, there were to be seen dead bodies of men 
and beasts, and some birds still struggling in their last gasp ; 
there seemed to be no hope for life or safety except in 
the ark, which was riding on the waves without oars, 
without sails, and without a rudder. 

The next company was a troop of two hundred noble 
youths, in martial array, at whose head was Joseph, riding 
a white horse with spots of black all over, himself fully 
armed from head to foot. His helmet was open, and 
instead of the ordinary crest had a golden crown with 
twelve rays starting from its circle ; and as the sun shone 
on his polished armour, it seemed as if a second sun was 
mirrored on his breast. His uplifted right hand was 
grasping a golden staff, which he gracefully supported 
against his side ; his left hand managed the reins with 
most admirable skill. He had an erect and manly bearing, 
combined with such beauty and majesty of countenance, 
that one could well believe he was not raised to this 
dignity so much by the people's choice as by that of 
Nature herself. 

The third mechanical trophy, or third course of the 
pageant, was a magnificent model of a temple of wonderful 
workmanship, for from within it were heard, as it passed 
along the streets, most varied and harmonious music, and 
the most delicious aromatic odours were diffused among 
the crowd from its open windows. After this the senators 
1 " Rutilo vestitu flaventibus undulis segmeiitato nitebant." 


and public magistrates appeared, all distinguished by their 
gold chains and purple robes, and sitting in the greatest 
dignity upon richly caparisoned mules. These mules 
were indeed almost concealed by harness and trappings, 
and the long state robes of their riders spread out in 
splendour behind them. 

Jacob, as President of the Senate, occupied in solitary 
state a four-horse chariot, which slowly 1 passed between 
the throngs of spectators. His long robe was of imperial 
purple, and the chain of office which he wore glittered 
with priceless jewels ; in his right hand was his gold 
pastoral staff, and before him were borne many other 
insignia of his dignity. A body of lictors accompanied 
the chariot, bearing emblems of punishments and honours. 

Next came in view the Sacred Vine. It was Joanna 
that people saw this time, in the same dress and same 
surroundings as her sister the year before ; but the Vine 
now had a huge elm placed near, to which it seemed 
to cling for support, 2 and beside Joanna sat Eugenius, 
and nobly did these two fill up the large gold chair. 
Then, in a two-horse chariot, followed Politian and Anna, 
much gazed at by the crowd, not so much for any rich 
attire, for they were dressed in a simple manner, but for 
the novelty of the sight. A body of one hundred horse- 
men brought up the rear and ended the procession. 

At different points throughout the whole route there 
were stationed bands of music of all kinds, greatly adding 
to the pleasure and enthusiasm of the spectators. At 
the central point overhanging balconies had been erected, 
and in these were seated the ambassadors from other 
nations. Here a seat was found for Angelus, who was 
an object of great interest to the eyes of all in the pro- 
cession as they passed by, and when his sons came in 
sight, so highly honoured and cheered, it took all his 

1 Tractim. 

2 ... or they led the vine 

To wed her elm ; she spous'd about him twines 
Her marriageable arms. 

{Paradise Lost, v. 215.) 


great natural gravity of demeanour to keep him from 
raising a cheer himself. 

When the procession had made a circuit of the city, 
it returned to the temple whence it started. This lay 
towards the east, and in it were the statues of all the 
previous Fathers of the State, as if assembled to join in 
the proceedings. 

The public temple was large enough to hold all the 
company, and the two happy couples were there united 
in the nuptial bond, Apollos presiding over the ceremony. 1 

The next event was the wedding banquet, an elaborate 
feast, but enjoyed with all sobriety and quietness. After 
this a general move was made to the military camping- 
ground, where was a review and some martial sports. The 
new Consul and the rest of the senators presided in one 
of the stands erected round the course, and also examined 
the gifts of the skilled workmen. 

This concluded the public ceremonies. Later on the 
wedding festivities were continued in Jacob's house, and 
there Joseph distributed to the guests copies of a sacred 
Wedding Song he had recently composed. 

1 This is very Miltonic. Not many scholars of our universities, 
whether Prelatist or Puritan in their proclivities, would have made 
this grand and gorgeous marriage a civil contract for Apollos was 
a layman. " Not many contemporary scholars," did I say ? Not one, 
except Milton, would be nearer the mark. See what he says: "Any 
believer is competent to act as an ordinary minister, according as 
convenience may require, supposing him to be endowed with ' the 
necessary gifts, these gifts constituting his mission " (iv. 232, Bohn). 



The Bridegroom "OH, come to Me, my loved one come! I wait 
to His Bride. And watch in sorrow, standing at thy door. 

My locks are dank with all the dews of night, 
Beneath the pale cold moon my cheeks are wan. 
Too long the shades of night have held thine eyes, 
And far too long thy limbs rest unrefreshed. 
Oh, come at once from thy inglorious bed, 
Thy slothful ease ! The wakeful bird of dawn 
Hath twice already hailed the eastern light, 
And with defiant throat called forth the morn. 

" What dreams hold thee so long ? What sleep is 


That doth so grossly weigh thee down, and add 
An inner sadness to night's shadowy gloom ? 
The star of morn is in the sky, and soon 
Earth's dusky vapours will be all aflame, 1 

1 The Latin is : 

Jam venit et fuscas accendit Lucifer auras ; 

which we may compare with three lines in that beautiful psalm-prayer 
of Adam and Eve in Paradise Lost, v. 152-200 : 

Ye Mists and Exhalations that now rise 
From hill or streaming lake, dusky or gray, 
Till the sun paint your fleecy skirts with gold. 

We have a similar idea or word-picture in each, and surely both 
are fine and natural. But oh these critics ! Landor says of the 
third line above : " Such a verse might be well ejected from any poem 
whatever; but here its prettiness is quite insufferable. Adam never 
knew anything either of paint or gold"! (Imaginary Conversations, 
Southey and Landor, iv. 27, ed. 1883). I would, however, venture to 
say that Milton, who was habitually an early riser, and often walked 
forth " under the opening eyelids of the morn," knew much more 
about sunrise than did Landor. 



[Bk. VI 

The Bride 

Psalm xlv. 2. 

Psalm xlv. 8. 

And soon the circling choir of stars be gone 

From Heaven's high pole. Oh! toy not now with sleep, 

For in thy tomb thou shalt have sleep enough. 

" My love, I come ! Before the earliest ray 
Of morn shall fall upon thy bed or bring 
Thy shame to light, I will burst through to thee. 
The last faint glimmerings of the fading moon 
Shall lead Me to thine eyes, and My right hand 
Shall softly part their lids. 

" 'Tis done ; and now 

The kisses that I snatch shall banish sleep, 
Nor shalt thou fear with Me the sleep of death." * 

"Ah, woe is me! what visions of the night 
Do break upon me and disturb my rest ? 
Who was it, even now, that pressed His lips 
To mine, and breathed so sweet an influence there, 
That wholly set my tender heart on fire ? 
And when He turned to go, His fair eyes cast 
A glance of deepest love back into mine. 
Oh! fairer far art Thou than earth-born men, 
And with a glory all Divine hast come 
To my poor soul. O Brighter than the Sun, 
That glorious opener of the flaming mom, 
How I do wish Thee back! When first Thy gaze 
Met mine, although I knew Thee not, my soul 
Did melt within me, and is melting still; 
Thus faint, I follow, for Thou bad's t me come. 
Thy garments smell of cassia and of myrrh, 
While from Thy feet doth odorous ointment drop ; 
Therefore do virgins follow in Thy steps. 
How shall I charm Thee ? Oh ! what gifts of mine 
May draw Thee in the mutual bonds of love ? 

" To Thee I'll come, washed white in Tiber's * stream, 

1 We may here note that the Bridegroom, before He implants the 
Divine kiss that is the presage of eternal peace, is careful to open the 
eyes of His chosen one, so that she may see the things that belong 
unto peace. " Open Thou mine eyes, O Lord," said the Psalmist. 
" Ephphatha," said the Heavenly Bridegroom, when He came to be 
the Light of the World, and to illumine the darkness and blindness 
of men. 

8 One would have expected Jordan here, and not Tiber, but a little 
reflection will show that the Bride, until she knows the free grace of 
the Bridegroom, thinks to satisfy Him and draw Him to her by the 
gifts and adornments of the natural woman. " Are not Abana and 
Pharpar, are not Tiber and Baiae," she would say, "better than all 
the waters of Israel ? may I not wash in them, and be clean ? " 


Or fresh from Baiae's baths. My native taint 
Shall be purged out with Colchian herbs. My skin, 
Though fair, my art shall make yet fairer still, 
And paint with blushes from the Baetic shore. 1 

" I'll weave for me a robe of texture fine 
To veil the naked contour of my limbs. 

Psalm Ixxii. 10. Barbaric gold shall glitter on my breast 

With all the gems of Ind, while fragrant winds 
Shall breathe Panchaean odours 2 round my bed." 

The Bridegroom " Unhappy one ! what dost thou blindly scheme ? 
to the Bride. And whence these high-flown thoughts, that are but 

He rebuketh her dreams ? 

proud flesh. what weakh or b e au ty can be thine? Of dust 
Was thy first father formed, and miry clay, 
Thy mother Eve with him to exile doomed 
A luckless pair ; nor better canst thou be 
Than they. Behold thy face in crystal seen 
Reflecting all the ulcerous taints which clothe 
With vesture foul thy outward form. No balm 
Can heal, nor will they yield to herbs or charms ; 
Yea, sooner could the leopard cleanse his spots, 
Or sunburnt Ethiopian change his skin. 
Thy members have no form nor comeliness, 

Par. Lost, iv. 305. Thy golden tresses have been rooted out, 

1 Hispania Baetica, where the Guadalquiver flows. It supplied to 
the mundus muliebris of the Roman lady such cosmetics and pigments 
as are now derived in highest perfection from the elegant boutiques 
of Paris. 

2 This uncommon adjective is used by Milton's favourite author 
Du Bartas in giving one reason why God made the waters of Noah's 
Flood to cease from off the earth : 

Afin qu'il vist encore la Panchaique odeur, 
Fumer sur les autels sacrez a sa grandeur ; 

which Sylvester renders thus : 

That He again Panchaean fumes might see 
Sacred on altars to His Majesty. 

Claudian uses this adjective three times, and the word has the 
classical authority of Lucretius : 

Araque Panchaeos exhalat propter odores. 
Panchaean = Arabian ; cf Milton in Paradise Regained, ii. 363 : 

And winds 

Of gentlest gale Arabian odours fanned 
From their soft wings. 



[Bk. VI 

The Bride sees 
her true state, 
and, almost in 
despair, craves 
for His love. 

And thy blear eyes run down with bloodstained tears, 
Thy poisoned lungs a filthy stench emit, 
A crass and fetid odour fouls thy breath, 
Thy body drags along all out of joint 
With bones awry ; as some fell snake, with tract 
Oblique would sidelong work his way, 1 and drop 
The deadly venom from his hissing jaws." 
" Tis so in truth my ruin is complete. 
A doomed, misshapen monster, who will care 
To love me ? who my presence will endure ? 
Ah, wretched soul, give up thy cherished faith ! 
Such hopes are vain ; another fate is thine, 
And as thy merit, so thy doom shall be. 
Beneath my feet the depths of Hell do yawn, 
Where Night eternal reigns and cruel Grief; 
Where tortures fail not through unending years, 
And Horror round me beats his iron wings. 2 

1 The Latin is : 

Ut dims anguis volvit obliquos gradus 
Lethale virus ore spargeus sibilo. 

Here we have a rather close parallel to Milton's famous description 
of the Enemy of Mankind approaching Eve : 

With tract oblique 

At first, as one who sought access, but feared 
To interrupt, sidelong he works his way, etc. 

As will be seen, I have utilised this passage for my translation. 

2 The Latin is : 

Alasque circum ferreas Horror quatit. 

All this is extremely Miltonic, for Horror is one of the most vague 
and terrible personifications of Paradise Lost, where the poet seems 
to see Horror sitting on the crest of Satan's helmet : 

On his crest sat Horror plumed. 

(Paradise Lost, iv. 998.) 

Spenser, a great favourite with Milton, had personified Horror thus 
(Faerie Queene, II. vii. 23) : 

And over them sad Horrour with grim hew 
Did alwaies soar beating his iron wings. 

And now in Nova Solyma we find this same personification in exact 
detail : 

And Horror round me beats his iron wings. 

Surely there is but one inference; and the inference can be made 


Above I see a righteous God who weighs 
My sins in balance just. His eyes flash fire, 
And threats in serried line stand on His brow. 

" O Blessed One, Redeemer of our race, 
How can I, thus unworthy, gain Thy love ? 
Oh ! bid me die ; yea, kill me in my guilt. 
I bow my head, for I deserve my fate." 

The Bridegroom's "But that free love which you can ne'er deserve 
free and Is proffered now ! Oh ! why with feigned reproach 
gracious offer An( j stubborn pride can you repel Me still ? 

of His ve If so - 1>u snatch thee q uickl y home with Me > 

And show thee all thy dower. Behold this rock 
Exod. xvii. 6. In Horeb cleft for thee, that living fount 
i Cor. x. 4. Is running still to cleanse and save. See here 

Jer. viii. 22. Is balm of Gilead, and a robe so white 

That purest snow will not compare with it ; 
Isa. Ixi. 10. And here thy bridal necklace, set with gems 

Of varied hue. And I, as King of kings, 
Rev. xix. 12. Have golden crowns and sceptres numberless, 
And garlands green to tell of victories won ; 
Of gold and silver and of all good gifts 
My stores are full ; and I've a garden fair 

Cant. vii. 13. With pleasant fruits, where spring perennial reigns. 
All these are freely thine, and so am I, 
If thou wilt come with Me and be my love." 
The Bride's Reply. "O Thou, my God and King, who fairer far 
Psalm xlv. 2. Than all creation art, dost thou once more 
Come back to plead with one so vile as I, 
And bring a rebel home ? Dost thou on me 
Pour all Thy richest gifts ? on me alone, 
While others lie in darkest depths of night ? 
Am I Thy chosen bride ? It cannot be ; 

yet stronger by a line from Milton's Latin poem In QuintumNovembris, 
where the cave of Murder and Treason is finely described, and here 
we have Horror again personified : 

Exanguisque locum circumvolat Horror; 

while in Nova Solyma a second time we have, in the Armada epic, 
Horror personified in the Cave of Terror : 

Atque ingens incubat Horror. 

Who can this concealed Apelles of Nova Solyma be, who thus puts 
on his canvas such powerful and terrible images of caves and their 
grisly inmates, and such nightmare visions of brooding, fluttering 
Horror? What youth of that age had such begii nings of the unearthly 
sublime within his fertile brain ? I know but one. 



[Bk. VI 

Isa. 1x5. 10. 


of country 

It is my longed-for joy, but past belief, 
For in my folly I did cast Thee off. 
Canst Thou forgive me such a slight as this ? 
I well may doubt ; but if I yield me now, 
Wash out my sinful spots, if water can ; 
Anoint my sores with balm, and if they heal, 
Put on those robes Thou hast. If then I please, 
Lead on, my Spouse, and I 'will follow thee, 
And Thou shalt quench the burning torch of Love." l 
" Earth's flowers are fair, and lilies best to twine 
For bridal wreath. Fair are the stars that shine 
In Heaven's high vault; the phoenix too is fair, 
Whom birds, adoring, follow through the air ; * 

1 Here there seems to be a reference to the manner in which God 
entered into a covenant with the Jewish Church and nation, as described 
in Ezekiel xvi., especially in verses 8-n. The beautiful crown placed 
on the head of the covenanted bride (verse 12) is given later on in this 
Bridal Song. So we have the Scriptural order of the washing, the 
anointing, the robes, and finally the crown. 

* These " adoring birds " led me to a little proof or coincidence which 
I might otherwise have failed to notice. When translating the passage, 
it struck me at once that these birds were an addition to the myth that 
I did not remember from my school days. So I looked up " Phoenix" 
in my Smith's Dictionary of Mythology, but found nothing there about 
these birds, and the classical references from Herodotus, Pliny, Statius, 
and Ovid, yielded nothing new. After some further search I found an 
allusion which pointed to Lactantius as the authority ; but when I took 
up that author I found nothing to the point, except a remark in the 
prefixed life that it was really Claudian, not Lactantius, as some 
supposed, who wrote a poem on the phoenix. I easily found the 
" adoring birds " in Claudian, and thus discovered that the author 
of Nova Solyma had obtained his addition to the usual phoenix myth 
from Claudian, and had reproduced it in his verse, the only one who 
had done so, as far as I knew then. And that was all I could say 
about it. However, a few days after, I was reading Paradise Lost, 
and (v. 272) I found my phoenix and Claudian's eagles and the 
admiring, "gazing" birds in fact, the very special incident that the 
older phoenix authorities and early poets leave out. Milton, then, and 
the anonymous contemporary author of Nova Solyma had been im- 
pressed with this marvellous worship of birds, and seemed to know 
their Claudian better than our text-books do. 

Milton also mentions the phoenix in Epitaphium Da?nonis, verse 1 88. 
It was part of the ornamental device on one of the two cups that 
Manso gave to Milton when the latter was leaving Italy to come home. 
There are several further pieces of evidence connected with the 
phoenix, which I have transferred to a separate Excursus (Phoenix). 

Ch. XII] 



Chorus of 


Chorus of 
young men 
and maidens. 

The Bride 

to the 
united chorus. 

The Bridegroom 

addresses and 

crowns His 


The Bride's 

reply. She 

yields her love 

in ecstasy. 

The Bridegroom 
gives his last 
address to the 
Bride, before 
espousal, making 
his appeal here 
and there from 
God's Word. 

And there is yet another beauteous sight 
The winged angels bathed in rosy light : 
But tell us, Heaven, and do thou, Earth, declare 
If aught can with our Virgin Bride compare." 

" Our flocks are snowy white when their pure fleece 
Has first received the shepherd's cleansing care ; 
But shouldst Thou, Fairest of Ten Thousand, come 
Amidst our sheep, how foul would they appear ! 
Yet take it not, O flocks, as your disgrace, 
For He surpasses far our mortal race." 

"Like two fair mated swans who calmly rest 
Upon the surface of a still, deep lake, 
May holy, equal love burn in each breast, 
And each be constant for each other's sake. 
And ever let our sister this news bring, 
That she as Queen doth reign where Thou art King." 

"O shepherd lads, and you, ye maidens fair, 
My equal playmates, fare ye well. No more 
Shall I with you enjoy the lute and dance, 
No more go forth to see the joys of sport, 
Or lay the wide-meshed net for wary game. 
Ah me ! How vain do all things seem ! for now 
I burn with Love's resistless fire ; and He 
By night and day is all the world to me." 

" My sister and my spouse, ' thy single eye ' 
My heart doth ravish ; yea, my soul is drawn 
To thy sweet honied lips. How dear to me 
That jewelled circlet round thy snowy neck ! 
That robe of white upon thy bosom fair! 
Take one gift more : this royal crown I place, 
And gems, like stars, thy head shall ever grace." 

" Ah me ! Beneath Thy gaze mine eyes do fail, 
For Thine are brighter than the Lamp of Day. 
Ah ! when I think what depths of love are there, 
Struck faint with great desire, I swoon away. 
Oh ! take my melting soul, my gift of love ! 
I pour it in Thine arms with Thee to stay." 
" Rise up, My love, My fair one, and come away. 
For lo ! the winter is past, and the flowers appear 
again on the earth. 

" Mild spring is here, and the soft Zephyr's breath l 
smells sweet. The downy cygnet floats along 
the stream, and the time of the singing of birds 
is come. 

1 Mild as when Zephyrus on Flora breathes. 

(Paradise Lost, v. 16.) 




The country 

maidens sing 

in chorus before 

the Bride's 


seeking to bring 

her home with 

them again. 

"With plumage gay they flit the leafy woods among, 
making them ring with song. And the voice of 
the turtle is heard in our land. 

" Now doth the tender year begin to teem with never- 
failing firstlings of the flock, while sportive kids 
do play and push with budding horns. 
" From rivers, now of genial warmth, leaps out full 

many a vaulting fish. 

" The sky is brightly clear ; the broad, still deep has 
on its restful face a pleasant smile. My fair one, 
come ! It is the hour of love." 
" Come, thou blest one, stay no longer, rise and 

leave thy Husband's side, 
Come renewed with gifts and graces, come in glory 

as a bride. 
No companion nymph or virgin now with thee can 

dare to vie, 
For thy gems and tinselled vesture glitter as the 

stars on high. 
Why conceal such gifts and beauties from thy friends' 

admiring gaze ? 
Come and see your home and kindred, where you 

spent such happy days. 
See, your sisters cull the clusters from the old 

paternal vine ; 
Why should not the festive vintage and its joys 

again be thine ? 
See, the purpling grapes invite thee, swelling eager 

to be pressed ; 

Why should not such pleasant memories fill once 
more thy youthful breast? 

" So come, let us go 
In a happy row 
To our dear fields once more. 
And the flowers we find, 
Oh ! let us bind 
In garlands as of yore. 
And the sea shall give us treasures, 
When we walk along its shore 
Shells to deck your arms with bracelets, 
As we decked them oft before. 

" Let us sport and let us play 
While we have the light of day, 
And, when darkness 'gins to spread, 
We will hie us home to bed. 
Drowsy made by meads and sea, 



Soon in slumber we shall be, 
Dozing off to hum of bees, 
Or to softly whispering trees, 
Or lulled by dreamy, distant moan of many murmuring seas." 

The Bride, 

having yielded 

to the joys 

of her past 

life, is thus 

addressed by 

the Bridegroom. 

The Bride's 

searchings of 

heart, and final 



Prov. xxi. 
Jer. xxxi. 30. 

Psalm Ixix. 2. 

" How canst thou put aside a love Divine, 
And yield at once when first temptation comes ? 
How can these flowers and these few paltry shells 
Compare with gifts and graces such as Mine? 
Oh ! how can earthly perishable things 
Be pledges of eternal love ? Is this 
Thy promised faith ? Alas ! once more, too soon, 
Thine eyes have yielded to a deathlike swoon. 

" O God, my God ! oh ! why forsake me thus ? 
What anger changes so Thy placid brow ? 
What hope is left me now this second time? 

" Oh that my head were waters, and mine eyes Jer. ix. i. 
A fount of briny tears to trickle down, Lam. iii. 49. 

And fall in ceaseless showers upon my breast 

" These empty shells, oh ! throw them all away, 
These garlands scatter with avenging hand. 
No more shall mocking wine a tempter be, 
No more sour grapes shall set my teeth on edge. 

" Alas ! how soon have clouds shut out my heaven ! 
The sun no longer with his rosy rays 
Sets day aflame. No moon with silver horn 
Or tremulous stars illumine now my path, 
Which I must seek in blind and darksome night ; 
Through miry bog, through quicksands, must I go, 
My weary feet shall find no solid ground ; 

1 This chorus of the country maidens is perhaps the most musical 
Latin poem in the whole book. It is written in the metre of the 
famous Petvigilium Veneris i.e. a trochaic tetrameter catalectic. In 
English we call this the eight-accent truncated verse. But the Latin 
metres must be left for our Latin Appendix. 

Here, in the last three English lines, I have allowed myself the liberty 
of expanding the poet's fancy ; and I take refuge under the protecting 
shield of Sir John Denham of Cooper's Hill fame. He says : " I 
consider it a vulgar error in translating poets to affect being fidus 
interpres" He means the attempt at a word-for-word translation such 
as Milton himself made in respect of some of the Psalms, and failed 
miserably therein, although he put all the really extra words in italics to 
show what a clever piece of patchwork he had formed. Denham goes 
on : " Where my expressions are not so full as his, either our language 
or my art were defective (but I rather suspect myself) ; but where 
mine are fuller than his, they are but the impressions which the often 

2 3 8 


[Bk. VI 

Jer. ix. 15. Of wormwood and of gall my drink shall be, 

And mingled tears and myrrh my vvinecup fill. 

" In vain Thy clinging kisses I recall, 
Thy fond embrace. Those kisses winged winds l 
Did snatch with envy as they fluttered by. 

Isa. xxxviii. 14. " Like widowed dove that on her rock doth mourn, 

Micah i. 8. Like desert owl with querulous complaint, 

1 nightly moan, chiding the lingering stars, 
And long for dawn. If sleep should come, it brings 
No peace, but phantoms dire. Thou show'st Thyself 
In wondrous ways. I see Thy gleaming eyes 
And threatening glance. Thy yoke is on my neck, 
And like a lion greedy of his prey, 

Isa. xxxviii. 13 ; Thou shakest all my bones. Thou fillest up 
Job x. 16. In me the measure of Thy furious wrath. 

Thine arrows stick within me fast, and cleave 

Job xvi. 13. My reins asunder ; yea, their poison drinks 

Lam. iii. 13 ; My strength away, and all my bones do melt ; 
Job vi. 4. For Thou hast poured Thy fury out like fire, 

Lam. i. 13; ii. 4. My joints dissolving like a bruised reed. 
I'm counted as a citizen of Hell, 

Psalm Ixxxviii. 4. And Death, my foe, hath claimed me as his own. 

reading of him hath left upon my thoughts ; so that if they are not 
his own conceptions, they are at least the results of them." 

The last line of this song in Latin is one of those musical and 
alliterative lines in which the sound suggests the sense, or imitates 
it. They are quite beyond a fidus intcrpres, or even a paraphraser. 
The line in question is a drowsy and dreamy call to sleep, represented 
by the three expanded lines above. There is one other such Latin 
line in the Ode to the Sabbath, where the church bells are imitated. 
The typical example is well known viz. Virgil's horse : 

Quadrupedante putreni sonitu quatit ungula campum. 

But in the whole range of Latin literature, ancient and modern, the 
number of such lines is very small. Milton has two in his published 
Latin poems, and there are two in Nova Solyma, which are much more 
likely to belong to Milton than to any contemporary, even if they stood 
alone, and were withovit the collateral evidence of their setting. This 
will be found discussed at greater length in Excursus K. There are 
in English some well-known Tennysonian examples. 

1 The Latin is -volucres noti. Cf. " And west-winds with musky 
wing," from Comus, line 989 ; also Paradise Regained^ ii. 363 : 

And winds 

from their soft wings. 




" But who shall give Thee thanks within the grave, 
Or praises in eternal silence sing ? 

Job xiv. 13. " Lo, though Thou slay me, I will trust in Thee. 

Thou hast embraced me ; to Thine arms I cling. 

" Make haste, my loved one ; be Thou fleeter far 
Cant. viii. 14. Than hart and roe upon the mountains are. 

My waiting soul is sick with love's delay ; 
Psalm xlii. 2. For Thee it longs and dreams. 

As oft, when hounds pursue, the panting hart 

Longs for the cooling streams ; 
As gapes the thirsty earth for rain and dew 

In summer's fiery drouth, 

Cant. i. 2. So gape my parched lips for kisses true, 

The kisses of Thy mouth." 

The Bridegroom " O wretched one, why fret thyself as though 
comforteth I leave thee comfortless ? Dost thou not see 
His Bride. Mine everlasting arms beneath thee still 

To bear thee up, and calm thy panting soul ? 
Isa. xxx. 21. I ( close behind thee, know thy prayers and tears, 
Have proved thee that thou hast a love unfeigned, 
And have inclined Mine ear to thy complaint. 

Prov. ix. 5. " Come, take and eat this blessed heavenly food, 

Come, drink this wine with all My love inflamed, 
And your sick, weary soul shall be refreshed. 

" For you there is a long and toilsome path 
Which must be trodden. Fear it not, for I 
Isa. Ixiii. 3. Did tread it first to make a way for thee, 

And will be with thee as a loving guide. 
Thou first must pass the wilderness, wherein 
Rom. ix. 2. Are stones of stumbling, rocks of great offence : 

Hos. ii. 6. The way is steep, and hedged up with thorns, 

Isa. xiii. 21. While round thee wanton satyrs pipe and dance. 
Eftsoons you pass through gardens fair to see, 
And flowery meads ; but fruit and flowers alike 
Are transient Dead Sea apples at the core. 
Then through the hidden gloom of thickets dense, 
The vasty realms of dark abysmal Night, 
I'll lead thee on; My whispered call shall guide 
Thy faltering steps. And when thou passest through 
Isa. xliii. 2. The fire and water, raging wind and storm, 

Psalm Ixvi. 12. I will be with thee, e'en to the jaws of Hell. 

" Lift up thine eyes, my bride, and cheer thy heart, 
Cant. ii. 7. Until the day shall break, and shadows flee, 

Rev. vii. 17. And tears be dried in finished victory." 



[Bk. VI 

The final chorus 
of the Bridal 
Virgins in a 
cento from 
chiefly from 
Psalm xlv. 

' My King, Thou art fairer than the children of men ; 
grace is poured into Thy lips, for God, who begat 
Thee, hath endowed Thee with this blessing for 

' Gird Thy sword upon Thy thigh, O Thou mighty 
one, let glory and majesty cover Thy head, and 
do Thou ride on high prosperously. 

1 Thou hast Thy companions with Thee : white-robed 
Grace, and Righteousness, her sister, and Truth 
with enlightened brow. 

' The right hand of Thy power shall scatter Thy 
enemies ; Thou shalt pierce them through with 
Thine arrows, and break in pieces the nations. 

1 True Offspring of the Highest, the glory of Thy 
throne is for ever and ever. A sceptre of equity 
is the sceptre of Thy kingdom ; Thou givest laws 
to all the earth. 

'Thou lovest righteousness and hatest iniquity, there- 
fore God, even Thy Father, hath for Thy merits 
anointed Thee with the oil of gladness above 
Thy fellows. 

1 Thy garments when drawn from their chests of ivory 
are fresh with the smell of aloes and cassia, and 
Thy purple robe droppeth with myrrh. 

1 The daughters of a hundred kings surround Thee to 
do Thee service ; at Thy right hand doth stand 
the Queen, pre-eminent among them all, in vesture 
wrought about with gold of Ophir. 

Hearken, O spouse, and consider, incline thine ear, 
forget also thine own people and thy father's 
house; so shall the King have pleasure in thy 
love, for He is thy Lord and God, so look thou 
unto Him. 1 

1 Here is a variation very Miltonic. The ordinary Biblical version 
is, as we know, " worship thou Him." This was too strong for 
Milton as applied to the Bridegroom, even though he were symbolical 
of Christ, so he puts it thus in his Latin : " Quin hunc tu Dominum 
suspicis et Deum." Milton hated idolatry with the bitterness of a 
Hebrew prophet, and I now add this last stone to the mound of evi- 
dence I have tried to construct pointing to him. Perhaps I have built 
with untempered mortar and unsound materials. In that case the critics 
will soon dislodge the stones and break up the mound. Then will 
I be ready, humbly, and I hope good-temperedly, to gather up the 
fragments that remain, and if there be left any sound, well-finished 
stones among them, I will try to rebuild the damaged pile, so that 


The final ' Tyre shall seek thee with a gift, and leaders of the 
chorus. people shall entreat thy favour. 

" So the Queen shall be clothed in raiment of needle- 
work, veiling with barbaric gold the hidden glory 
of her figure. 

it may accompany and introduce the fine Latin verse of Nova 
Solyma to the world of scholars. Perhaps the illustrious name of 
Milton may then be erased from the edifice by the sponges or files 
or biting teeth of Zoilus and his critical crew. But no sponge, file, 
or any other process can destroy the beauties of diction and thought 
which abound in the original Latin of this unique Romance. 

To worship any thing, or any being, inferior to God, is idolatry. The 
Son of God is Godlike and Divine, but, as to Divine honours, inferior 
to the Father. This was Milton's established opinion towards the end 
of his life, as the world discovered for certain, to its great astonishment, 
in his posthumous and late-discovered work, De Doctrina Christiana. 
He there says (among many pages of argument to the same effect) : 
" For as the Son uniformly pays worship and reverence to the Father 
alone, so He teaches us to follow the same practice" (Bohn's 
ed., iv. 103). And in another place farther on (iv. in) he refers to 
the very passage here in question : " The words of Jehovah put into 
the mouth of the bridal virgins (Psalm xlv.) might have been more 
properly quoted by this writer [an orthodox commentator he is 
criticising] for any other purpose than to prove that the Son is 
co-equal with the Father, since they are originally applied to Solomon, 
to whom, as appropriately as to Christ, the title of God might have 
been given on account of his kingly power, conformably to the language 
of Scripture." In fact, as has been noticed before in comments on 
several passages of Nova Solyma, Milton thought that the orthodox 
inference drawn from the Scriptural use of Deus, or God, when applied 
to Christ, was of little value to prove His Divinity, or to show that 
He should be worshipped as the Supreme. 

Now, this present refusal in Nova Solyma to use the word " worship," 
which was the orthodox Biblical expression in this particular Psalm xlv., 
surely goes a long way to suggest the connection between the author 
of this beautiful Divine Pastoral and our great poet. For what man 
of genius, learning, and sublime poetic fire was there in those days 
who held this unusual view, except Milton ? 

This opinion is not a mere academical one, or founded on words 
and phrases only ; it was radical and far-reaching. Satirists and 
humorists have frequently indulged in jeers and facetious remarks on 
the bitter discussions between the Homoousians and the Homoiousians. 
How could people fight about a letter, a mere jot or tittle ? They did 
so because the difference extended to the very groundwork of the 
Christian faith. The Divine services of the Church, her ceremonies, 
VOL II. 16 


The final 

chorus of 

the Bridal 



" Thy festal throng of virgins shall attend thee and go 
up into the King's palace ; even in the bride- 
chamber shall they sing to thee their auspicious 
song, and shall say : 

"Though thou art become an alien to thy father's 
house, yet shalt thou be a joyful mother of 
children, whom thou mayest make princes in all 
" And I, thy bard, will ever sing 

Thy noble praise, 

Till it doth through all nations ring 
To endless days." l 

ritual, and mysteries, all depended on it, and Milton, with his logical 
skill, felt this as keenly as a man could. Though he upheld the Trinity, 
he also contended that the Son was a creature, Scripturally speaking, 
" the first-born of every creature," and the beginning of the creation 
of God. Therefore He was not to be worshipped as God. No doubt, 
among the many sectaries and fanatics of those days of religious 
excitement and licence, some might be found to favour this view ; but 
who among them all could reach to the scholarship and poetic fancy 
of Nova Solyma ? There was but one call him a fanatic or sectary 
if you will there was but one man in England then who could have 
produced the many-sided and remarkable anonymous work of which 
I here conclude the inadequate translation. That man was, as I 
contend, the God-loving, righteous-minded, and lofty-thinking genius 
known to the world as John Milton. 

1 This change to the first person " I, thy bard," is very Miltonic. 
The same unusual change occurs in Paradise Lost, iii. 412, where at 
the end of the angels' "charming symphony" and "sacred song" as 
uttered in Heaven, there next follows : 

Hail, Son of God, Saviour of men, thy Name 
Shall be the copious matter of my song 
Henceforth, and never shall my harp thy praise 
Forget, nor from thy Father's praise disjoin. 

Dr. Bentley thought it so strange that he amended to " our song," 
but all critics allow that it was Milton's change to his own person. 

The same occurs here exactly, and our author ends with a similar 
promise of future praise and future verse. This too was Milton's 
manner, as at the end of Lycidas. See farther on at end of Autocriticon. 
Homer's hymns often end thus. 



THE original Nova Solyma has on its last page a short 
notice entitled 

which is to the following effect : 


Whatever mistakes have been made in prosody 
punctuation, diphthongs, or such like literary slips, you 
will easily find out from the general sense of the passage ; 
therefore kindly correct these. The manuscript copy we 
printed from was very obscure and dubious, 1 but we 
have noted below such errata as came under our notice. 

[Here follows a list of twenty-seven such mistakes.] 

1 If the MS. had been lying for eighteen years or more among 
Milton's college exercises, and retouched from time to time as the 
author tells us, we can well imagine that it was somewhat difficult 
for the compositors to decipher. Moreover, Milton's early hand was 
not so neat as it became in after-life (cf. his MS. poems, Trinity 
College), and his punctuation was always very careless, and often 
omitted altogether for several lines ; but his indentation of lines to 
show the various metres was always carefully done. 

Now, both these characteristics of Milton (bad punctuation and good 
indentation) appear in Nova Solyma as it was printed. Moreover, 
Todd, in his Life of Milton, tells us the MS. which Milton left behind 
him of the Christian Doctrine contained "interlineations, corrections, 
and pasted slips of writing." Nova Solyma, which was no doubt often 
revised, would contain more still, and thus would be, as the printer 
says, anceps et obscurnm. 



THE copy at St. John's College, Cambridge, which is 
the original of 1648 issued with a new title-page and 
date 164.9, has also an extra leaf at the end, on which is 
the following 




In addition to the errata which the printer has corrected, 
and others similar which he has omitted to notice, there 
are many of a more important description, and indeed 
the author for some time hesitated whether he ought to 
publish the work in such a rough and unrevised state. 
For it was written in the heat of youthful ardour, and 
never received the finishing touches, which were from 
time to time deferred. And when, after a long interval, 
during which the author had much to occupy his mind 
and much to disturb his thoughts as well, 1 he at last 
began to take in hand the final revision, he soon discovered 
that his literary bantling was not only an abortive one, 
but also so maimed and misshapen in form and structure 
as to require a very great deal of extra labour to make 
it presentable. He also felt that he could not possibly 
have leisure time to take it to pieces again, and rewrite 
it in a more perfect form. While in this changeful and 
hesitating frame of mind, which lasted for some time, 
he at lergth determined to publish, strengthened by the 

1 This interval was doubtless the nine years since 1639, when he 
was called by his conscience to come home from his travels, and, to 
use his own words, " embark in a troubled sea of noises and hoarse 



precedent of Apelles, 1 whose habit it was to submit his 
pictures to the view of the passers-by in such a way 
that he could listen furtively to their critical remarks, 
and afterwards amend any faults they might discover. 

Moreover, the author had a special desire, seeing that 
his work was such a novel and daring institute, 2 to hear 
the judgments that others passed on his attempts before 
he bestowed further pains on them himself; for he is 
by no means unconscious how adverse the spirit or fate 
of this age 3 is to any strict repression of the carnal 

1 Strange to say, Du Bartas, in his Advertisement au Lecteur at 
the beginning of his great work on the Creation of the World, which 
was such a favourite book of the youthful Milton, makes the very 
same allusion to Apelles that the author of our Romance makes at 
the end. There seems something more than mere coincidence here. 
My suggestion is that Milton unconsciously here reproduced what 
was lying latent in his mind from his early reading of Du Bartas 
not an unusual thing at all with our great poet, as Dunster clearly 

The exact words of Du Bartas are : " Je promets d'ecouter, cach6 
comme un Appelle derriere mon tableau, 1'avis de tous, et me con- 
former a celui des plus doctes." 

3 This is the very word (and a most unusual one) which Milton 
himself uses in his acknowledged tractate on Education. He had 
been somewhat digressive, and therefore he says, near the end of 
his book : " But to return to our own institute," etc., by which he 
means the argument and purport of the treatise. 

The Latin here in the Autocriticon is institutum, a thoroughly 
Ciceronian word with many shades of meaning, one being the sense 
it is used here viz. argument of a book. Cf. Cicero, Top. 6 : " Sed ad 
hujus libri institutum ilia nihil pertinent "; z'.tf. "Those matters do 
not belong at all to the institute of this book " (in other words, to 
its argument or purport). 

Here, then, we have certainly a suggestive fact, for our anonymous 
author makes in Latin the same peculiar use of the same shade of 
meaning of a most dubious and unusual word as Milton made in 
his English treatise on a similar subject. 

" Institute " is quite obsolete now in the Miltonic sense, and soon 
fell out of use if, indeed, any one besides Milton ever did so use it. 

3 This fate of the age, this genius saeculi, or Zeitgeist, was quite 
a Miltonic expression. We find a close parallel passage in Milton's 
Reason of Church Government (Works, ii. 479), when Milton is 
speaking of the epic he had been proposing to his mind for many 
years, and goes on to say : " As Tasso gave to a prince of Italy his 


life, or to any endeavour to bring into favour the higher 
spiritual faculties, as is here essayed. If it should turn 
out thoroughly distasteful to the public, he will not proceed 
further with a superfluous book. If it should meet with 
approbation, he will be encouraged to go on, and, paying 
due attention to what the critics may say of the present 
work, will proceed to bring this first imperfect sketch 
into a more finished picture. 1 

choice whether he would command him to write of Godfrey's expedition 
against the infidels, or Belisarius against the Goths, or Charlemain 
against the Lombards ; if ... there be nothing adverse in our climate, 
or the fate of this age, it haply would be no rashness ... to present 
the like offer in our own ancient stories." Here too we observe that 
some warlike British epic is hinted at. 

1 An anonymous book of 1667 has a notice to the reader on a 
page by itself, strongly recalling the above Autocriticon in its Apelles 
conceit. Thus : 


" That the author of these poems sends them forth without his 
Name or Face, or Commendatory Verses of his friends, is not because 
he knows any cause to be ashamed of them ; but because he is of 
a Profession to which Poetry is commonly thought no accumulative 
or honorifick accession : and upon that account indeed he is willing 
(with the known Painter) rather to bear the world's censures behind 
the Curtain." 

The book was entitled " Londini quod reliquum ; or, London's 
Remains." The author was Simon Ford, who acknowledged the work 
some years few afterwards. 

The last words of the Autocriticon remind us of the last words 
of Lycidas : 

To-morrow to fresh woods and pastures new. 

Milton was very ready with his promises of future work, but 
he never returned to the "woods and pastures," of which he took 
a final leave in English when he had written his pathetic monody 
on Edward King. Nor did he ever return to finish a more perfect 
picture of the New Jerusalem. 



THERE are some interesting parallels between Bacon and 
Milton which I have not seen noticed anywhere. Both 
left Cambridge with the conviction that the education 
given at this great seminary of learning was not only 
unprofitable and based on wrong principles, but was 
really opposed to the advancement of learning, and was 
a dangerous failure in regard to the proper preparing 
of statesmen for their country's good. 

" Let it be remembered," says Bacon, " that there is not 
any collegiate education of statesmen, and that this . . . 
is prejudicial to states and governments, and is the reason 
why princes find a solitude in regard of able men to 
serve them in causes of state." And, again, he hints that 
the Universities prepared young men to steer the ship 
of the state not by a knowledge of the principles of 
human nature, but by the knowledge of dead languages 
and by verbal criticisms upon them. After they had 
left Cambridge, both Bacon and Milton published these 
views, one in the Advancement of Learning and in the 
New Atlantis, and the other in his Tract on Education, 
and our present larger anonymous work. They both 
also had a plan of a great central college in their minds 
one the college of Solomon's House and the other the 
college of Nova Solyma. And, above all, they both 
most firmly believed that they were born for the service 
of mankind, and especially of their own country. 

Bacon says, in one of his autobiographical passages 
(for he resembled Milton here, too) : " Whereas I believed 




[Exc. G 

myself born for the service of mankind, and reckoned the 
care of the common weal to be among those duties, that 
are of public right, ... I therefore asked myself what 
could most advantage mankind, and for the performance 
of what tasks I seemed to be shaped by nature." 1 

As for Milton, it is well known how he cut short his 
first and only visit to Italy that he might return and help 
his country in the hour of her need and danger. He 
put aside his "singing robes" for many years to stand up 
in uncongenial debate with the hoarse, contending voices 
of those he thought the foes of England and of Liberty. 
And whatever he wrote, whether prose or verse, his earnest 
aim was always this, to make it " doctrinal and exemplary 
to a nation." 

All these special and somewhat exceptional character- 
istics also are found in Nova Solyma. Especially does our 
author dwell on the point of public benefit : " Turn etram 
publicae utilitate consulit qui has metas vitae perfectionis 
proponit " (Nova Solyma, p. 163) ; i.e. he declares that the 
aim of his present exposition of a more excellent manner 
of life is primarily the common good. His hero, Joseph, 
also lives with his father till he should be called to some 
public office where he can aid the good of the state. 

Again, Bacon says : " I take Goodness in this sense, 
the affecting of the weal of men. . . . This, of all virtues 
and dignities of the mind, is the greatest, being the 
character of the Deity." On this Dr. Abbott justly 
remarks : " No one will understand Bacon's character who 
does not bear in mind that throughout his life he re- 
garded himself as the benefactor of mankind, inspired 
by this ' character of the Deity.' " 

Dr. Abbott and Mr. James Spedding are the two 
greatest authorities on Bacon, and they both agree in 
stating that Bacon put into his New Atlantis more of 
his own self, his tastes, his preferences, and his ideals, than 
is to be found in any other of his writings. Mr. Spedding 
also adds this high praise : 

" Among the few works of fiction which Bacon 
1 Proem to The Interpretation of Nature, written about 1603. 


attempted, the New Atlantis is much the most consider- 
able, which gives an additional interest to it, and makes 
one the more regret that it was not finished according 
to the original design. Had it proceeded to an end in 
a manner worthy of the beginning, it would have stood 
as a work of art among the most perfect compositions of 
its kind. . . . 

" The description of Solomon's House is the description 
of the vision in which he [Bacon] lived not of an ideal 
world released from the natural conditions to which ours 
is subject, but of our own world as it might be made 
if we did our duty by it ; of a state of things which he 
believed would one day be actually seen upon this earth 
such as it is by men such as we are ; and the coming of 
which he believed that his own labours were sensibly 

In a word, Nova Atlantis is Bacon's ideal of what 
humanity should arrive at according to his own tastes, 
and Nova Solyma is Milton's similar ideal according to 
his tastes ; and there is this to be said in favour of 
Milton's book, that it was not unfinished, but brought 
to happy completion, was much fuller in incident and 
interest, and abounded in poetry of a high order. But 
one came before the public in the name of the great 
Lord Chancellor and introduced by his learned chaplain, 
and the other came doubly veiled, being in Latin 
and anonymous, and with no introduction whatever. 
So one was often reprinted, and always remembered ; the 
other fell flat from the press and was utterly forgotten, 
even apparently from the day of its birth. 

The New Atlantis may claim this credit for its prophetic 
scheme, that it was to some extent fulfilled and realised in 
the College of Philosophy, or Invisible College, which 
eventually (1662) was extended into the " Royal Society" ; 
and it may also claim an influence in establishing similar 
scientific societies abroad, especially one at Bologna 
in I7I4- 1 But it had no practical result at the time, 
the chief reason seeming to be that Solomon's House 
1 Adam, Philosophic de F. Bacon (Paris, 1890), p. 343. 



[Exc. G 

was a suggestion that could not be acted upon on solid 
ground away from cloud-land. At least, so Abraham 
Cowley hints in his much more practical and serious 
account of a " Philosophical Colledge " which he advocated 
in 1 66 1. But there were two drawbacks to this college 
its great expense, and the immense strain on the pro- 
fessors and it was never adopted. 

Now, the wonderful fact I wish to emphasise in this 
connection is, that between these two notable University 
Utopias, Nova Atlantis (1627) and the Philosophical 
College (1661), and between those two singularly gifted 
men Bacon and Cowley, there appeared another Utopia 
(1648) of a much more interesting, elaborate, and compre- 
hensive character, the work, too, of a greater genius, strictly 
speaking, than either the philosophic Bacon or the 
precocious Cowley. And what was the astounding result ? 
No one took the least notice of it for 250 years. I think 
this will be hard to match in the annals of literature. 

It is a singular fact that just as the great Francis Bacon 
never once mentions his yet greater contemporary William 
Shakespeare, so the illustrious John Milton never mentions 
the great philosopher Francis Bacon, although Bacon was 
alive when Milton went to college. Throughout the whole 
of our book there is no direct allusion to the experimental 
philosophy which the great Francis Bacon had been so 
recently doing his best to bring before the world. It had 
evidently no attraction for our author. Nor, on the other 
hand, had he any sympathy with the old scholastic 
philosophy founded on the great authority of Aristotle. 
Our author belonged to an intermediate school of 
philosophers who preferred to rest on Moses. So did 
Milton. So did the old Puritans almost to a man. It 
was in favour of this sacred philosophy that Dr. Cotton 
Mather used his great influence so successfully on the 
rising generation of ministers in New England. The 
ancestors of many of my American readers (and for 
Milton's sake I look forward to having some) were brought 
up and fed on this philosophy almost exclusively. Dr. 
Cotton Mather says in his Manuductio ad Ministerium 


(Boston, 1726) : " Have done with your Magirus, and your 
Eustachius, and your Heerebrod, and the rest of the 
Jargon writers." His praise is reserved for " the Mosaic 
Philosophy of Comenius," the " Philo sopJiia vetus et 
nova of the rare Dickinson," and the " Philosophia 
generalis of Gale. " I am afraid that the present generation, 
by the help of the Higher Criticism and Darwin, " have 
done" with this philosophy too ; but I hope that the long 
and dry exposition of it which we find in various pages 
of Nova Solyma will not be quite wanting in interest, 
when we remember that it represents the firm convictions 
of a Milton convictions which were also shared by the 
most distinguished and worthy Puritans of England, Old 
and New. There are also some curious original theories 
put forth in our book which, besides being noticeable per se, 
point clearly to a daring and independent thinker." 

Neither Milton nor Bacon seemed to take any thought 
about the education of the lowest class in the state, those 
living, as we say, from hand to mouth. Bacon, with all his 
professed philanthropy, or good feeling and pity towards 
mankind, seems to have an aristocratic aloofness with 
regard to the rank-scented vulgar. He was not anxious 
for such to come between the wind and his nobility, 
and his lower servants were not allowed to come into his 
presence if shod with rough, ill-smelling leather. We hear 
nothing from him about their need of youthful education. 
Milton alludes not to the training of this class in his 
acknowledged work The Tractate on Education, for that 
is concerned with youths of good family only ; but the 
author of Nova Solyma is decidedly against over-educating 
the poor, as it leads to discontent with their position. He is 
more of an advocate for technical and kindergarten schools. 
These views respecting the unnecessary over-education of 
the lower working classes are coming into favour with some 
authorities at this beginning of the twentieth century. 
They are far commoner than many people suppose. 
Honest, useful Hodge is being educated out of existence 
that is the cry. The new generations that should succeed, 
in the old order of rural matters, to their father's work and 



[Exc. G 

position in life " are unfitted for farm work and unsettled 
by a restless, misplaced ambition." The good, faithful, 
lifelong servants, who had been educated to use their 
hands and their common sense rather than to fill their 
heads with useless knowledge, have disappeared almost 
entirely under the new educational methods. In a book 
just published (1901), entitled Tlie Curse of Education, 
Mr. H. E. Gorst shows himself a strong reactionist in 
the Miltonic direction and even beyond it, for he says : 
" Dairy-maids need neither history nor geography. They 
can even do without grammar." 



THIS fine poem having been composed at night in bed by 
Joseph points strongly to Milton, who was known to be 
much addicted to this mode of enticing the Muse. He 
was more apt for inspiration at this time and place, and 
mentions this again and again in his works e.g. Paradise 
Lost) ix. 20, etc : 

If answerable skill I can obtain 

From my celestial patroness who deigns 

Her nightly visitations unimplored, 

And dictates to me slumbering, or inspires 

Easy my unpremeditated verse. 

He tells his friend Charles Diodati that he composed 
the Ode on t/ie Nativity just before the first dawn (see 
Elegy, vi. 87, of Milton's Latin poems). He writes to 
Alexander Gil saying that he had translated Psalm cxiv. 
into fresh heroics, seized by a sudden unknown impulse, 
before the morning light had risen (see Paradise Lost, 
vii. 28, iii. 32, and elsewhere). Newton tells us that Milton's 
widow being asked if he did not often read Homer and 
Virgil, she understood it as an imputation on him for 
stealing from those authors, and answered with eagerness 
that " he stole from nobody but the Muse who inspired 
him " ; and being asked by a lady present who the Muse 
was, replied : " It was God's grace and the Holy Spirit that 
visited him nightly." I venture to throw out here a 
suggestion which will possibly be considered "new and 
audacious " ; but may not the many remarkable apparent 
plagiarisms in Milton have resulted from his "subconscious 
self"? Members of the Psychical Research Society will 
know what I mean. 


254 THE HYMN TO GOD [Exc. H 

Here, too, in this poem of Nova Solyma, this nightly 
rapture of the poet to the courts of Heaven, and the nightly 
power to pour forth sublime description thereof in " easy, 
unpremeditated verse," in good, strong Virgilian hexa- 
meters, can be the product of no one's brain but Milton's. 
The whole poem is uniformly fine, and will, I think, be 
no slur on Milton's reputation as the best Latinist in his 
University and his country. 

Nor can we help remembering, when we read these early 
nightly visions, these dream-visits of the youthful bard to 
the courts of Heaven, how that, later on in life, when he 
sat in darkness and was indeed near to the shadow of 
death, he still was wont to lift his eyes, now sightless, and 
his thoughts, more purged now from earthly strife, to that 
great Source of light from which he ever felt his inspiration 
really came. 

He tells us of this himself in pathetic lines which all 
lovers of Milton know well (Paradise Lost, iii. 21-32) : 

Thee I revisit safe, 

And feel thy sovran vital lamp ; but thou 
Revisit'st not these eyes, that roll in vain 
To find thy piercing ray, and find no dawn ; 
So thick a drop serene hath quenched their orbs, 
Or dim suffusion veiled. Yet not the more 
Cease I to wander where the Muses haunt 
Clear spring, or shady grove, or sunny hill, 
Smit with the love of sacred song ; but chief 
Thee, Sion, and the flowery brooks beneath, 
That wash thy hallowed feet and warbling flow, 
Nightly I visit. 

And one more point. The Latin line which ends this 
fine ode is : 

Et regni memorem solabor honore futuri, 

which I have turned or paraphrased : 

And I 

Shall solace find from thought of joys now nigh, 
And Thy millennial kingdom's majesty, 

But I am afraid it quite fails to convey to the English 
reader the musical dying fall of the last three Latin words 

Exc. H] THE HYMN TO GOD 255 

which end the ode " solabor honore futuri." This musical 
fall of the Latin strikes one as a Miltonic turn, for, strange 
to say, some of the finest and most impassioned examples 
of English verse that Milton bequeathed to posterity 
have also a noticeable dying fall in their last lines. Take, 
for instance, the last two lines of Paradise Lost : 

They, hand in hand, with wandering steps and slow, 
Through Eden took their solitary way. 

These last two lines have been frequently objected to 
as a falling off from what had gone before. Addison 
wanted to omit them altogether as supernumerary and 
useless. Bentley, as usual, tried to amend them, and 
proposed the dreadful alternative : 

These, hand in hand, with social steps their way 
Through Eden took, with heavenly comfort cheered. 

Another critic suggested that the last four verses should 
be transposed. But as Professor Masson justly observes : 
" This is our last sight of them [Adam and Eve] ; and 
instead of wishing the final lines away, we prolong the 
sight to ourselves at a distance growing greater and 
greater by fondly repeating them : 

They, hand in hand, with wandering steps and slow, 
Through Eden took their solitary way." 

Again, take the last lines of Paradise Regained. How 
quiet is the ending ! Warton thought it feeble : 

He, unobserved, 
Home to his mother's house private returned 

But it is characteristic of Milton, and Masson thinks it 
is " particularly fine." 

And we notice something similar in Samson Agonistes. 

In all three passages, after intense emotion and action, 
there is a kind of lull, a soothing quiet, a dying fall, as 
of music about to cease. I seem to recognise the same 
in the last three words of this Latin ode. May it not 
owe its origin to the fine musical ear of our great poet ? 

256 THE HYMN TO GOD [Exc. H 

And now, while we are on the subject of endings, is the 
time to notice another strong proof of Milton's hand in 
Nova Solyma. Professor Masson, who is the highest 
authority on Milton's poems, whether Latin or English, 
has remarked (Hi. 352) on "the frequency with which 
Milton ends a poem with this dream of Heaven and its 
joys." Some examples he gives are the Epitaphium 
Damonis (a remarkably ecstatic one), the Mansus, the 
third Elegy, and Lycidas. Now, the very same feature 
occurs in even a more striking manner in Nova Solyma, 
for in the original lyrics that are freely dispersed here 
and there in the body of the Romance, far more than 
half end with the assertion and iteration (sometimes 
remarkably ecstatic) of heavenly future joys. The per- 
centage of such endings is unusually large, and there is, 
in their original Latin, a strong Miltonic flavour which 
cannot be judged by a translation. 



PERSONALLY I have a strong feeling that this fine lyrical 
composition is one of the most conclusive pieces of 
Miltonic evidence in the whole Romance. The author 
calls it a Sacrum Canticum, a Divine Song. I have 
ventured to entitle it The Bridal Song of Heavenly Love, 
a Divine Pastoral Drama, and the reason I have so 
named it is that I firmly believe we have here what 
Milton was referring to in his Reason of Church Government 
in 1641, when he was confiding to the world his literary 
projects, in the epic, dramatic, and lyric branches of poetry, 
what his musing mind had proposed to attempt I have 
given the whole passage in the Introduction, and will, 
therefore, only repeat now his remarks about a pastoral 
drama he had in his mind. He says (after referring to 
possible epic attempts) : " The Scripture also affords us a 
divine pastoral drama in the Song of Solomon, consisting 
of two persons and a double chorus." 

Now, this exactly describes the Sacrum Canticum of 
Joseph at the end of our Romance. It is certainly a 
" pastoral drama " and it is " divine " i.e. on a sacred 
subject. It is mainly drawn from materials " in the Song 
of Solomon," and we find it "consisting of two persons 
[the bride and bridegroom] and a double chorus [of 
shepherd lads and maidens]." 

What can be plainer or more straightforward than this ? 
It is palpable enough even to the general reader ; but to 
the Latin scholar the proof appeals still more strongly, 
for this Latin drama is unique in its way even as Milton 
was unique. This pastoral drama " dwells apart " ; I know 

VOL. II. 257 17 



[Exc. J 

no Latin drama like it. It is so full of varied lyrical 
harmonics and metrical music, that it is more like a lyrical 
opera in Latin than a drama. I have looked in vain 
among the many Neo-Latin poets on my shelves, and 
among their dramas I can find no parallel. I took down 
the Palaestra Eloquentiae Ligatae of the Reverend Father 
Jacobus Masenius, S.J., Coloniae Agrippinae 1682, a rare 
encyclopedia of most things connected with writing Latin 
verse, and in all its 1,475 pages I could find no lyrical 
composition like it. In the original it requires looking 
into more than once to be able to see the drift of it, for 
there are no notes of any kind at foot or side and no 
references. It runs on from beginning to end without any 
signs of dialogue or chorus, except a short break here and 
there in the verse. It is only when the descriptive side- 
notes and the references are added that one can see plainly 
the sacred lyric opera. 

And this reminded me that a great critic had once 
suggested that Milton would have succeeded much better 
with a lyric opera than with a severe epic such as 
Paradise Lost. The critic was Taine, and students of 
English literature will remember how dissatisfied he was 
with our great English epic. To begin with, he did 
not like the form in which it was cast. " Would he 
could have written it as he tried, in the shape of a drama, 
or, better, as the Prometheus of Aeschylus, as a lyric 
opera." Taine's opinion was that Milton's genius was 
transformed in passing from the lyric beauty of his 
youthful poetry to the epic sublimity of his latest years, 
and that there was loss rather than gain in the change. 
The poet, so he thought, no more sings, but relates 
or harangues in grave verse, and his characters are 
speeches. He takes Adam and Eve as instances. " I 
listen," he says, "and I hear an English household, two 
reasoners of the period Colonel Hutchinson and his wife. 
Heavens ! dress them at once. Folk so cultivated should 
have invented before all a pair of trousers and modesty." 
This is trenchant enough without doubt ; but, after all, I 
think Taine is on the track of a sane criticism, and simply 


means that Milton, when a young man and breathing 
the freshening air of the Elizabethan Renaissance, did 
produce odes and lyrics that were wellnigh perfect, that 
he had then his singing robes on, and gloried in the 
metrical variety and harmony of the lyrical opera, but 
that towards the latter part of his life he put on the 
more sober and stately robes of epic and tragic declama- 
tion, and lost that wonderful lyric sweetness and harmony 
all his own. His great epic Paradise Lost would have 
been better for a little mixture of the quality of Goethe's 
Faust here and there. That seems all that Taine means, 
and I do not think that lovers of Milton need trouble to 
deny it. One point the great critic laboured to make 
clear seems certainly true, viz. this, that the distinguishing 
feature of Milton's youth was his superb lyrical genius. 
Whether he lost it partially in later life is open to question ; 
but I hold it to be a great help to my present contention, 
that the author of Nova Solyma was a young man w/io 
undoubtedly had a superb lyrical genius, and who scattered 
here and there throughout his first great work in the Latin 
tongue many most remarkable and unique proofs of it, of 
which by no means the least is this Canticum Sacrum, 
this Bridal Song of Divine Love. Of course, the appeal in 
all these cases is to Latin scholars, and the verdict will 
to a great extent depend on the harmonious numbers, the 
melodious symphony, and the general pleasing effect of 
the complex Latin verses handed down to us. This 
question of youthful lyrical genius of an exceptional kind 
of course stands or falls by itself: if Latin experts will 
not admit it, it does not damage the many other strong 
Miltonic proofs which I hope I have fairly set out ; if 
the experts do admit it, in whole or even in part, it is 
a great additional argument for Milton. 




I HAD intended originally to publish all the Latin 
poems of Nova Solyma in a separate volume, with the 
English versions facing them on the opposite page, and to 
add also a few chapters of the original Latin prose and 
some notes thereto. 

My publisher, however, was of the opinion that the 
general public, and scholars especially, would prefer to 
have the chance of seeing the original Latin, or at least 
some portions of it, at the same time that the Romance 
was presented to them in its English form ; one reason 
being that the original book is so rare as to be practically 
unattainable. I therefore determined to make a selection 
of the poems, including the Armada epic in full, with a 
few specimens of the prose style, and to throw them into 
an Appendix, where they need not interfere with the 
continuous reading of the Romance. 

There was this further advantage, that in this way an 
Excursus or two and some of the more critical notes could 
be also transferred to the Appendix in their proper places, 
and thus make the reading less of a strain to the non- 
classical reader. The uninviting subject of the strange 
Latin metres could also be thus gone into and disposed 
of, so to speak, behind the scenes the best place for it, no 
doubt, in the opinion of many readers as I could not 
absolutely disregard this subject, for upon the metres is 
founded a very strong Miltonic proof, as I have hinted 

In Nova Solyma there are some fine lyrical attempts 
that are perfectly original as to metre, and after much 



research I have failed to discover any others like them. 
We have to remember first, that it is not every modern 
Latin poet who is equal to writing lyrics well or even 
moderately well. 

" The middle or low sort of versificators," says Thomas 
Ruddiman, the learned printer, " seldom venture upon 
them, as judging them (as they really are) much more 
difficult and probably above their reach." So, as a rule, 
they confine themselves to hexameters and elegiacs, and 
they who try new and original metres are indeed few in 
number, and not many venture even on choriambics or 
trochaics. There are just a few in post-classical and 
modern times who have tried their hand, as Martianus 
Capella, Boethius, Melissus, J. E. Du Monin, Geo. Fabricius 
and the great Buchanan, for instance. Each of these was 
a multimeter (to use the expression of Sidonius Apollinaris), 
that is, a man of varied rhythms ; but not one of these 
expert Latinists ever varied his rhythms beyond the 
species called a tricolon tetrastichon i.e. a stanza of four 
lines in three different metres, of which Alcaics are a good 
example. Nor did the whole body of classical Latinity 
ever go beyond a tricolon. 

There was, indeed, one multimeter almost unknown to 
fame, Petrus Burrus (1430-1506), who was facile princeps 
in this particular line of metrical variety. He managed 
to write in all the metres of Horace, Boethius, and 
Martianus Capella, and to add some of his own as 
well ; but even he did not, except in two instances, get 
beyond a tricolon, and then only to the next step viz. 
a tetracolon tetrastichon. 

But and now comes the point the author of Nova 
Solyma y as we shall see, went as far as a pentacolon 
hexastichon, and a tetracolon heptastichon as well. Who 
could this anonymous author be ? " Why, here is a man," 
the Latinists of the seventeenth century might well say, 
" who cuts us all out and the ancients as well." To me the 
curious thing is that no one did say so, or, indeed, make 
the slightest remark, for more than two hundred and fifty 
years, concerning the book or its author. But the book 


and its metres are still extant, and the twentieth century 
may decide. 

Its author clearly hailed from England and its publisher 
from London. Who among our fellow-countrymen could 
have sent forth such new and audacious metres ? who 
could have thus dared to present "things unattempted 
yet in prose or rhyme " ? who, I say, but Milton, the 
one who of all contemporary Englishmen delighted most 
in metrical experiment ? 

It was he who, when a mere lad, invented the beautiful 
lyric metre of the Hymn on the Nativity ; who later on, 
in 1646, composed the Latin lyric ode to Rouse, a 
" metrical whim," as Masson says, " outraging all traditions 
of Latin prosody," but yet, I may add, based on the 
choral odes of Pindar. 

It was Milton, too, who later on still, in 1653, dictated 
(being then blind) some extraordinary metrical versions 
of the first eight Psalms, all different metres, and some 
never heard of before. Yes, surely here we have found 
the man we seek. Here is the author and the only 
Englishman likely to insert pentacola or tetracola in 
the midst of the other melodious rhythms, both in prose 
and verse, of this very original Romance. 

And to prove my argument still more effectively, I 
am able to show that Milton in 1641, in his Reason of 
Church Government, plainly tells his readers that he had 
been trying or intended to try this very kind of metrical 
exercise we are referring to. After mentioning what 
his musing mind had " liberty to propose to herself" in 
Christian epic and divine pastoral drama (the Armada 
and the Sacrum Canticum of Divine Love ?) he goes 
on, " or if occasion should lead, to imitate those magnific 
odes and hymns wherein Pindarus and Callimachus are 
in most things worthy." Ah ! here is the key that fits, 
and we can see clearly enough now that these unusual 
metres are the attempts of a fine Latin poet to imitate 
in the Latin tongue the varied and intricate rhythmical 
essays of the best of all the Greek lyric poets the very 
thing that Milton had in his mind ! 




And the hymns of Callimachus, who, contrary to usual 
custom, wrote his hymns in hexameters, they too are 
in Nova Solyma imitated in a manner that no one of 
Milton's contemporaries could attain unto. We find them 
in Joseph's beautiful hymns to the Supreme Deity, also 
written in hexameters, beginning : 

O Deus aeterni sator aetheris, o pater, o rex 


O coeli supreme parens, qui foedera rerum, 
or as they appear in the English rendering : 

(1) O God, who as a sower spread on high 

The countless stars o'er all the eternal sky, etc. 

(2) O Father, Lord of all the heavenly host, etc., 

I submit to scholars that this Pindar and Callimachus 
proof, though somewhat abstruse and indirect, is a fairly 
strong one, and I am glad therefore to find a place for it 
in the Appendix. Moreover, we have Milton's own words 
for it, that he often had Greek epics, dramas, and lyrics 
in his musing mind. He mentions by name his Greek 
models : Homer for epic, Sophocles and Euripides for 
drama, and Pindar and Callimachus for lyric odes and 
hymns. And he was as careful as the Greeks themselves 
about suitable metres. As scholars know, certain metres 
are suited to certain moods. The elegiac has always been 
supposed fittest for a mournful theme indeed Ovid calls 
it flebile carmen ; the hexameter for a lofty strain ; the 
longer iambic trimeter for the tragic drama ; the lyric for 
hymns and songs to be sung to the lute, harp, or flute. 

Now, the Muse of Nova Solyma, in the various poetical 
interludes that are sown here and there through the 
Romance, tries her skilful hand in all the above metres. 

We have the hexameter or lofty strain in the Armada 
epic modelled on Homer and Virgil, also in the sublime 
hymns to the Deity modelled on Callimachus, and in 
God's contention with Job (xl. 6 xli. 12). We have the 
elegiac or mournful strain in the epitaph on the sad 
death of Philippina, and in Job's complaint (iii. 2-26). 


A.nd we have in our antique romance nearly all the 
varieties of the Lyric Muse, not excepting even the Lydian 
soft, sweet, almost luscious as it was, compared with the 
sensuous Sapphic and the graver Doric. As Milton says : 

Lap me in soft Lydian airs . . . 
In notes with many a winding bout 
Of linked sweetness long drawn out. 


The Lydian would find its representative in the chorus 
of the village maidens at the door of the bridal chamber, 
and a very good representative too, full of sweetness, linked 
and long : 

Nunc eamus et legamus capita florum mollia 
Nexa sertis et corollis induamus tempera ; 

and not only Lydian but 

various measured verse, 
Aeolian charms, and Dorian lyric odes 

are here, and songs that move 

to the Dorian mood 
Of flutes and soft recorders. 

The " Aeolian charms " (charms = carmina) of Nova 
Solyma are the Sapphics of the Song of the Wanton 
Damsels and the Alcaics from the Book of Wisdom, 
chaps, ii., Hi., etc. (pp. 285-91 of Nova Solynid). 

The " Dorian lyric odes " we find in those remarkable 
metrical attempts already referred to, the many-limbed 
lyrics that point back to the intricate measures of Pindar. 
They are that song of Auximus in which he was accom- 
panied by Joseph on his cithara, and the ecstatic song 
of Joseph to the Angelic Host, which is even somewhat 
Phrygian in its religious fervour. 

The original models (as I take it) in Pindar were not 
his choral odes, but such odes as Nemea IX., which is a 
pentacolon, in the Dorian rhythm, and accompanied by 
the lyre and flute, and Pythia XII., which is also Dorian 




and a pentacolon. These differ from the choral odes in 
being monostrophic, and therefore could be sung suitably 
as solos. 

Nemea IV. is another Pindaric ode of a similar kind ; 
and when Milton was twenty-three he wrote his famous 
sonnet How soon hath Time, etc., and at ftnes 9 and 
10 there is a most clear reminiscence of Nemea IV. 67. 
I claim such coincidences as a powerful help to my 
suggestion. Nor is the metre of the Greek tragic drama 
omitted. We have fragments of Cain, forty-two lines of 
iambic trimeters, and also sixty-eight lines of Abraham 
at Morea, in the same metre the one metre usual in 
dramas, whether Greek or Latin ; and we know that this 
latter subject of Abraham was on Milton's MS. list. 

And besides several other original lyric metres we have 
an Anacreontic in the O sistitote furem, which is doubly 
interesting to all students of Milton, as one of the very few 
remains of that most brief period of Milton's youth, when 
he, the Lady of Christ's, allows us to see him lightly 
turning his chastened fancy to thoughts of love. 

So I hope that these original metres here given, besides 
helping my case, will not fail to be of considerable interest 
to all who have obtained the inestimable gift of appreciating 
our illustrious poet. And that such a gift is inestimable 
we have the unreserved assertions of such excellent critics 
as Mark Pattison and Mr. Archer. 

I am also able here to help my contention and arguments 
by discoursing more freely on such proofs and undesigned 
coincidences as Belgia and TJte Phoenix, feeling that they 
will not now interfere much with the perusal of the 
Romance, as they are banished beyond the boundaries. 

This Appendix will begin with TJie Approach of 
Spring, which is the poetical heading of the first chapter, 
and consequently the commencement of the Romance. 
This will be followed by a selection from the Latin lyrics. 
The whole Armada fragment is given, and a considerable 
portion of the Canticum Sacrum. 

Then follow the first four pages of the book in Latin 
prose, and a few more prose selections. 



GRANDINIS hybernos Boreas exolverat imbres, 

Brumaque Judaei jam parte recesserat anni 

Et caput abdiderat lapsum tellure sub alta. 

Cum petit obliqui coeli fastigia 1 cursu 

Sol pater, et lentis crudam coquit ignibus auram. 

Parturit omnis ager ; sylvaeque herbaeque recentes ; 

1 The beginning of this "ode on Spring" seems to be based on 
the following passages of Columella : 

(1) Post ubi Riphaae torpentia frigora brumae 
Candidas aprica Zephyrus regelaverit aura 
Sidereoque polo cedet Lyra mersa profundo 
Veris et adventum nidis cantarit hirundo. 

(Columella, De Cult Hortor., 77-80.) 

(2) Referring to same time of year. The Fidis of this extract is 
equivalent to the Lyra of the other. 

Cal. Feb. Fidis incipit occidere, ventus Eurinus, et interdum 
Auster cum grandine est. Ill Nonas Feb. Fidis tota .... 
occidit. Corus aut Septentrio, nonnunquam Favonius. 

This last explains too the introduction of Boreas into a description 
of the ethereal mildness of spring ; and certainly the presence of so 
chill a personage required explanation. 

According to Columella, when the wintry sign of the Lyra was 
beginning to set, there were cold winds with showers of hail, but 
later on in February, when that constellation had wholly disappeared 
below the horizon, there came gusty winds from a more northern 
quarter, varied occasionally by the soft breath of the Zephyr. These 
gusty winds Septentrio, Aquilo, Boreas brought with them showers 
of rain, which the tender buds of spring did not fear, as they did 
the earlier hail-showers. They too were true signs of advancing 
spring ; but the classic poets as a rule all mainly dwelt on the mild 
influence of the Zephyr, that genitalis mundi spiritus as Pliny 
poetically calls it. 

This made it all the more singular that our author should dwell 
on Boreas instead of Zephyr, and it was a puzzle to me until I hit 
upon this passage of Columella. I now saw that our anonymous 
author was well versed in the proper sequence of the weather in 
earliest spring, and that he most likely owed his allusion, in its 
literary form, to these passages of an out-of-the-way author whom 
no Englishman then, except Milton, seemed to study or recommend 
in any degree. This little discovery seems, therefore, to help my 

The Ode proceeds in good classical diction, and scholars will notice 




Et viridem pictis intexunt floribus oram 
Vocibus et blandis coeli jucunda salutat 
Lumina progenies pecudum, pubesque volantum 
Per nemus omne canit, nidis emissa relictis. 
In se mersa fluit glacies, rivisque serenis 
Apparent nitidi pisces ; et laeta propago 
Ludit ubique vadis ; nullisque offensa procellis 
Aequora marmorei rident immania ponti. 

(Vol. I., p. 77-) 


PRIMI veris honos 
Laetum parturit annum ; 
Auroram roseis diem 
Spargentem l digitis poscit arator : 
Cum terns humili Sol adit osculo, 
Et montes liquido lumine purpurat. 

what may be reminiscences of the author's favourite school classics 
Virgil and Ovid : 

Et nunc omnis ager, nunc omnis parturit arbos 

(Virg., Eclog. iii, 56) ; 
Parturit almus ager 

(Georg. ii. 330) ; 

Candidus Oceano nitidum caput abdiderat Sol 

(Ovid., Met, xv. 30). 

As Boreas, Aquilo, etc. are often used by the classical writers 
per synecdochen for any strong gusty wind, I may perhaps be allowed 
to present to the English reader the rather misleading word Boreas 
in the more appropriate form of " Spring's eager breath," as the 
meaning seems to be. 

The first few lines of the introductory poem seem to tell us that 
the winter solstice of the Jews and their shortest day (Lat. Bruma = 
brevissima), together with the accompanying constellations, in the sky, 
had passed away, and that now the Sun was coming back to them, 
as it were, with new life, mounting obliquely through the stars towards 
his culminating point. 

This treatment of the advance of Spring is thoroughly classical, and 
this connection between the seasons and the constellations is a 
well-worn theme with Latin poets, both ancient and modern. I 
possess a very rare little book, a Calendarium Poeticum of the date 
1580, which contains 280 pages of extracts from various poets from 
Ovid to Dinckelius (the compiler of the collection) ; and every extract 
is in the same curious astronomical fashion which is here presented 
to us in Columella and by our concealed author. 

1 " Spreads the day," where spargere is finely poetical and truly 


Aevi chare puer 
Uti flore memento, 
Fructus addere flosculis : 
Est praecox potior vite racemus ; 
Nunc et vere novo quae tibi conseris 
Autumnus rapiens, brumaque distrahet. 

Pleno quale solent 
Pullis ore columbae, 
Egestum dare pabulum; 
Sic te nunc inopem cura parentum, 
Multa lactat alens ubere copiae 
Mox versa repetent quam vice liberi. 

Instat sumina dies, 
Et mors aequat adultis, 
Crescentum tumulos breves ; 
Sera primitias labe carentes 
Gratas redde Deo, qui sua parvulis 
Indulget patriae munera gratiae. 

(Vol. I., p. 102.) 

Miltonic ; early Miltonic, too, for in an undoubted MS. school or college 
exercise of pur poet, discovered with his Commonplace Book some 
thirty years ago, we have the following parallel : 

Flamiger Eois Titan caput exerit undis 
Et spargit nitidum laeta per arva jubar. 

Indeed, this song is noticeable for many reasons. See the way it is 
carefully spaced in the printing. This was a device Milton was 
particularly careful to observe, as may be seen in his famous Trinity 
College MS. at Cambridge. He was a careless speller, but most strict 
in setting out his lines according to the variation of the metre. 
Again, what a remarkable attempt is this song as to metre ! The first 
line is made up of the last two feet of a hexameter with a syllable 
over ; the second line is a Pherecratic ; the third line is in a metre 
unknown to classical Latinity it is some mediaeval metre which 
Caramuel in his Metametrica } p. 39, calls carmen virgineum ; and the 
last two lines are asclepiads. 

Here is a mixture indeed! The author's own clearly, just as the 
Hymn on the Nativity was young Milton's own. Technically this 
metre is pentacolon hexastrophon. I have not found one like it. 

But besides their unusual metres, the songs and lyrics of Nova 
Solyma are separated and distinguished from all contemporary Latin 
verse by an unbigoted austerity of moral sentiment which is nowhere 
else found in connection with such elegant and cultured Latinity. 



VIVIT in saxis onager remotis ; 
Vivit in sylvis numerosus ales ; 
Uberes illis inarata tellus, 
Parturit escas. 

Ludit Arctois satiatus undis 
Cetus : expertos refugit labores, 
Liber in campis equus et soluti 
Colla juvenci. 

Totius princeps dominusque mundi 
Indiget cunctis ; gravibusque curis, 
Caecus argenti nitido metallo, 
Quaerit et auri. 

Pallidus secli studio futuri 
Ditat ignotos opibus nepotes ; 
Seque neglecto fugientis aevi, 
Munera perdit. 

Laeta poscenti genio J repugnat : 
Objicit saevis animum periclis 
Clarus ut vani referat tumentem 
Nominis auram. 

Quisque naturam melius parentem 
Optimum numen colit, et supremum ; 
Omne quod laedat, fugit ; et deorum 
Secula regnat. 

(Vol. I., pp. IIO-I2.) 

1 This is the classical use of the word genius, and the thought 
expressed in the line is often met with in the old poets e.g., 

Indulge genio : carpamus dulcia. 

(Pers., \. 151.) 

Situm defraudans genium, comparsit miser. 

(Ten, Phorm., i. i, 9.) 

Isti qui cum geniis suis belligerant, parcipromi. 

(Ten, True., i. 2, 81.) 

The metre is the well-known Sapphic, a suitable one for the wanton 
damsels to use. 



Rectam qui tenero puer 
Ingressus pede semitam, 
Cursu perpetuo premit 
Metam mortis ad ultimam. 
Faelix, qui refugo gradu, 
Orci praecipitem viam 
Pertaesus, superos petit. 
Quisquis tramite devio 
Captus se redimi cupit 
Me non horreat indicem, 
Vultu terribilem truci 
Sed pronus facilem pia 
Exoret prece transitum ; 
Cassis lumine praescio 
Hoc solum superest iter. 1 

(Vol. I., p. 118.) 


HORRESCIT nocuis sentibus, et malos 
Certat terra ferax tollere carduos : 

Et vix fida colenti, 
Messem reddit adulteram. 

It formica frequens colle sub arido 
Et junctis Cererem viribus integram, 

Parco dente peremptam, 
Caecis condit in horreis. 

Hybleae volucres dulcibus otium 
Postponunt studiis, et liquidum novi 

Libant floris odorem ; 
Saevam mel hyemem levat 

Anni perpetuam sol terit orbitam : 
Exhaustis toties reddere cornibus 

Rores non piget almos 
Nocturni dominam chori 

1 This metre is unusual ; it consists wholly of Glyconics. Boethius 
(ii. 12) has the same metre once, and from certain similarities, and 
from the subject Orpheus and Eurydice, it is possible that Boethius 
suggested this peculiar production. 


Discat gens hominum cui vigor igneus l 
Et mens aetherei conscia Numinis, 

Laetos ferre labores ; 
Curas ut fugiat graves. 

Vitam caelicolum transigat aemulam, 
Aeternique serens praemia seculi, 

Gaza sit magis omni 
Parcens temporis aurei. 

(Vol. I., p. 130.) 


O SACRUM Solymae jugum ! 
Urbs 6 nobilium regia civium 
Te faelix pietas, et bona caelitum 
Cantu gaudia recreant perenni. 

Sanctorum pater optimus 
Praesenti facie lucidus incolit 
Et proles miseris addita gentibus 

Exornat gemino nitore templum. 

O coeli jubar aureum ! 
Mortales superas corpore regio 
Et divos volucres * numine patrio : 

Nil aequum tibi surgit aut secundum. 

1 See Excursus (Igneus Vigor). This Virgilian and, originally, 
Platonic fancy seems to have forcibly struck our author, for he recurs 
to it in the Armada epic: 

Igneus est ollis vigor et caelestis origo 

Now, Milton was struck with this fancy, and repeats it several 
times. At college, in his academical oration ; in his youthful poem 
Upon the Circumcision, line 7 ; and later in life of Samson Agonistes 
he writes (1. 1690) : 

His fiery virtue roused 

From under ashes into sudden flame. 

The metre of this lyric is a tricolon tetrastrophon, consisting of 
two Asclepiads, a Pherecratic and a glyconic the metre of Horace, 
Book I., Odes 5, 14, 21. 

3 I have rendered divos volucres as " winged angels," and I think 
correctly ; but what a remarkable expression, and how Miltonic ! 


Vultus prefer araabiles : 
Et te da proprio lumine conspici : 
Ut surgens roseo sydere Phosphorus, 

Aut flamma vigor aureus Diurnae. 

Tu nostri generis memor, 
Et terras oculis desuper intuens, 
Fraternis humilem tollis amoribus, 
Et dulci rapis impetu furentem 

Ergo nos patria domo 
Vivemus superum seda potentium. 
Prae portis potius janitor excubem, 

Quam regnare velim beatus exul. 1 

(Vol. I., p. 175.) 

PSALM CXXXIX., vv. 14, 15, 16 

O QUAM mirifico atque horrendo more creatum 
Me recolo ! Magnis pollet tua dextera factis, 
O Pater ! atque in se mens conscia percipit ipsa 
Non mea te latuit tenebris circumsita moles ; 
Nempe uteri quamvis inferna sede repostum 
Finxisti, clara veluti sub luce pateret, 
Corpus, ei egregiae decus admirabile formae. 
Utque rudi tabula, justis mea membra figuris 
Dimensus, certo crescentem tempore faetum, 
Denique vitales fudisti in luminis oras. 2 

(Vol. I., p. 183.) 


O PUBES superum beata divum ! 
Quos nunquam maculat scelesta labes, 
Nee caeli patrio limine dejicit, 
Aut sacris animos dotibus exuit ; 
Vos 6 sydereum genus ! 
Laetis pergite cantibus 
Summo plaudere regi. 

1 Another unusual metre. This is a tricolon tetrastrophon, consisting 
of a glyconic and a Phalencian with two Asclepiads in the middle. 

2 This is a thoroughly independent version founded on the original 
Hebrew. Notice the fifth line especially, and compare the ordinary 
versions. The inference, of course, is that the author of the above 
version was a critical Hebrew scholar, well versed in the commentaries. 

VOL. II. 1 8 


At nos heu scelerum pudore victi 
Et tot molibus obruti malorum 
Nunc tandem gemitus fundere possumus, 
Et desiderio carpimur aemulo, 

Dum nos caelicolum choris 
Regni municipes sui 

Victor praevius addat. 

Quin et vos domini jubente nutu, 
Arcem linquitis aetheris supremi, 
Et terras humiles sponte revisitis ; 
Aut cum Tartareis praelia Manibus, 
Nulla pace, lacessitis ; 
Nee nobis vigiles piget 
Deservire ministros. 

Ergo nos alacres, suprema quando 
Hoc mandat ducis optimi voluntas ; 
Duremus positi pulvere in arido 
Belli ferre moras, et juvet hostibus 
Forti pectore congredi, 
Dum mox emeritum caput 
Cingat laurea victrix. 1 

(Vol. I., p. 199.) 

1 Here is another of those peculiar metres which are such dis- 
tinguishing marks of the author's Latin verse. Barring Petrus Burrus 
there is only one Neo-Latin poet, as far as I know, that at all approaches 
him in the variety of his metres, and he is Geo. Fabricius of Chemnitz, 
who published three books of sacred odes in 1552 at Basle. In his 
preface he gives a reason for the great variety thus : " Divinis autem 
laudibus, ut omnium mortalium voces ac lingua, ita omnis numerorum 
varietas convenit." Perhaps Milton and Apelles-Milton had a similar 

The metre here consists of two Phaleucians, two Asclepiads or 
Choriambic tetrameters, a glyconic and, lastly, a pherecratic. It 
answers to the name of tetracolon heptastrophon. I know of no 
other Latin example. 

But yet more, besides being unique, it is a sevenfold metre 
(heptastrophon). How appropriate is all this ! Our great poet tells 
us (Reason of Church Government, Introd. to Book II.), how he was 
often debating with himself how well a great Christian poet could 
treat the Apocalypse in the manner of a stately tragedy " with a 
sevenfold chorus of hallelujahs and harping symphonies." Few knew 
better than Milton what the Rabbis and Clemens Alexandrinus said 
about the seven first-born Chiefs of the Angels (em-a Trpwroyovot 
dyye'Xwv ap^ovrts), and also what Scripture said : " I saw the seven 



CEDITE jam tantis victoribus undique gentes, 
Naturam subigunt qui dare terga fugae 


Si vitare virum vates vis optima morsus 
Ad quae confugias, antra leonis habes 


Stulte fide salva poteras servasse Joannem 
Scilicet imperio plus erat ille tuo. 

angels which stood before God " (Rev. viii. 2) ; also, " I am Raphael, 
one of the seven holy angels who offer up the prayers of the saints, 
and go in and out before the Presence and the Glory of the Holy One 
(Tobit xii. 15). 

That Milton accepted the seven archangels as scriptural is clear 
from Paradise Lost, iii. 654 : 

Uriel, for thou of those seven spirits that stand 
In sight of God's high throne, gloriously bright. 

The peculiar metre seems framed on the Greek lyrics, especially 
the Dorian rhythms of Pindar, and this, too, points to Milton as noticed 

With the new evidence we .have here and elsewhere in Nova 
Solyma as to this ecstatic ode and to Joseph's ecstatic] state generally, 
I venture to suggest that our illustrious poet was a " visited character," 
as the Southcottians used to phrase it, or subject to an " influx " from 
" spirit guides," as the later expression is. I suggest that Milton was 
quite conscious of his peculiar privilege and thankful for it. With him, 
as with Emmanuel Swedenborg, Thomas Lake Harris, Joanna South- 
cott, John Wroe, Apollonius of Tyana, Plotinus, Laurence Oliphant, 
and a whole crowd of genuine inspirational poets and speakers (not 
counting impostors), there occurred striking mental phenomena, very 
abnormal to say the least ; but undoubted facts or occurrences, as I 
suggest, to the parties concerned. 

Our Apelles-Milton speaks of the jerk of the head when entering or 
leaving what he terms an " ecstatic " state. This shows, I think, that 
he was acquainted with the manifestations which occur at the 
psychological moment. But though these " visitations " are referred 
to both in Paradise Lost and Nova Solyma, no explanation beyond the 
ordinary Scriptural one is suggested. How could we expect more ? 
Charcot and the Nancy School, hypnotism and clairvoyance, inspira- 
tionists and automatic writing, were not yet even in embryo. 


Ecce lavat membris nigrantem et mente Philippus 
Aethiopem frustra nee tamen ille lavat. 1 

(Vol. I., p. 262.) 

It was the confirmed opinion of the mediaeval Church 
that every Jew smelt abominably, and that the only way 
to get rid of this Factor Judaicus was by the water of 
Baptism. It would have been interesting to hear Joseph 
dilate on this theme. The subject is not particularly 
enticing, but if any readers wish to pursue it I can offer 
the references that follow from my own casual reading : 

Emanuele de Valle de Moura, De Ensalmis (1620, fol.}, p. 372. 

I. Benedict!, La Somme des Pechez (ed. 1584), p. 777, quoting 
I. Eckius, Horn. 3. de B.V.M, 

Isaac Cardoso's Defence of the Jews, written in Spanish in the 
seventeenth century, strongly denies the foetor. 

The Stage, a poem, by John Brown (Lond. 1819), p. 22. 

A. Leroy Beaulieu, Israel among the Nations (Lond. 1895): at p. 117 
he says (but contrary to nearly all authorities) that Baptism left the 
foetor Judaicus ^^nchanged, and that it was thus sometimes discovered 
that this or that dignitary of the Church was of Jewish extraction. 
In a note he adds : " This foetor, this tale of l\\t Judaeorum foetentium 
of Marcus Aurelius (Ammian Marcell., xxii. 5) seems to date back 
to an error or malicious trick of some early copyist, who instead of 
Judaeorum petentium wrote Judaeorum fetentium." See on this Isidore 
Loeb, Le Juif et VHistoire de la Legende, etc. (Paris, 1890). 

When, later in life (c. 1653), Milton was Latin Secretary, 
there was a case in real life of a blackamoor (Mr. Morus) 

1 (i) The Passage of the Red Sea. (2) Daniel in the Den of Lions. 
(3) The Beheading of John Baptist. (4) Philip and the Ethiopian 
Eunuch. As to this last Crashaw, the young Cambridge Latinist, 
almost contemporary with Milton, has an epigram somewhat similar : 


Ille niger sacris exit quam lautus ab undis 
Nee frustra Aethiopem nempe lavare fuit. 

With these two epigrams on Baptism we may compare what is 
said of the Jews baptised by Avitus in A.D. 579 : 

Abluitur Judaeus odor baptismate divo 
Et nova progenies reddita surgit aquis, 

Vincens ambrosios suavi spiramine rores 
Vertice perfuso chrysmatis efflat odor. 


being washed white, in which our great poet took special 
interest. Morus (between whom and Milton there was 
no love lost) had brought a lawsuit against Madame 
Salmasius and her pretty maid Bontia. He won this. 
But from the scandalous nature of the case, he had to 
pass through the ordeal of an enquiry by his clerical Synod 
at Utrecht. From this, too, he came out successfully, 
and the Reverend Moderator of the Synod congratulated 
him with pleasant facetiousness. " Never," said he, " was 
Moor whitewashed as you have been to-day." 

At Doncaster some years ago there was a curious sign 
for one of the public-houses there, representing " Labour 
in Vain," and exhibiting two herculean women, with a 
negro in a tub, whom they were trying to wash white. 
This is mentioned in the Daily Chronicle, June 8th, 1900, 
and it is suggested that the picture has probably been 
bought by a firm of soapmakers. No doubt it is a very 
ancient popular adage, and one that took Milton's fancy, 
for in his Dejensio pro se he chaffs Morus about it 
unmercifully and calls him an Aethiops dealbatus. 

Our next extract is : 




HESPERII tumidos fastus, irasque tyranni, 
Bellorumque minas : hinc altae cornua classis ; 
Inde rates parvas, et virginis arma Britannae, 
Virtutemque canam. Tu sacris annue coeptis 
Summe Deus ! tantis etenim tua dextra periclis 
Eripit ; et quisquam metuat jam fiiere coelo ! 


Haec ubi decrevit, solio se erexit ab alto, 
Et vacuo in terras late dimisit Olympo : 
Illi omnes, Jovis imperils immanibus acti 
Undique diffugiunt, Mars munere laetus iniquo, 
Ingentem abjecta dextram primtim expedit hasta, 
Et laevum mucrone latus ; simul aurea solvit 


Cingula ; turn galeam ferrataque membra reponit, 
Loricamque gravem, nee se tamen exuit ipsum. 
Nempe alias artes saeva sub mente revolvens, 
Stellantes Superum pennas, 1 et lucida membra 
Induit ; et sanctus coeli fit nuncius alti 
Turn calice aurato praefert crudele venenum. 
Permistum furiis atque ambitione tumenti. 
(Nectareum falso dicunt cognomine potutn) 
Taliter instructus, mox arripit ipse jugales, 
Lassatos requie ; dum magni ad maenia templi 
Permissum 3 servant defixi in culmine currum ; 
Ore reluctantes, spumamque in fraena furentes 
Dentibus exercent : oculis vigor igneus altis 
Emicat, et patulis exufflant naribus auras. 3 
lamque revertentem, seseque ad terga locantem 
Attollunt laetis hinnitibus ; inde soluti, 
Aera per tenuem, pennis pedibusque volantes, 
Praecipites abiere : manu dat lora secunda, 
Ocyus insistens, et recto proxima cursu 
Transmittit spatia: interea juga Thessala linquens, 
Se super Adriacas non segnius avehit undas, 
Romuleasque arces, Tiberinaque despicit arva. 
Turn mare per medium properans, hinc praeterit imos 
Gallorum fines, atque hinc Balearica saxa : 
Nee prius effusos uno premit impete fraenos, 
Quam simul Hispanam veniat transvectus in oram, 

1 Sannazar, De partu Virginis, lib. ///., thus describes the Heavenly 
Messenger to the shepherds at our Saviour's birth at least as far as 
her wings were concerned : 

Mobilibus pictas humeris accommodat alas. 
What a falling off from the simple yet striking description : 

Stellantes Superum pennas, et lucida membra 

One was an elegant verse-maker the other had a genius for the 
ethereal and the sublime, whether Milton or another. 

1 A strange epithet for a chariot, quite unknown to Virgil, Horace, 
Cicero, and the rest of the classic authors usually read. However, 
pcrmissum cunum is strictly a classic phrase, for Gratius Faliscus 
(a contemporary of Ovid), in his Cynegeticon, 227, speaks of permissa 
quadriga in the same sense of " free to start " as above. The inference 
is that the author of Nova Solyma had read the Cynegeticon of Gratius, 
and made a note of the unusual sense of the word there. Who more 
likely to do such a thing than Milton ? 

3 Cf. Georgics, i. 376. 


Matritaeque astans auratas occupet arces, 

Impia ' nox altum tenebris foedaverat orbem, 

Et jam extrema polo pronas agitaverat horas. 

Ille leves atra sistens in nube quadrigas, 

Apparat aethereos cultus potumque nocentem : 

Turn penetrat ; magnique torum petit inde Philippi, 

Regali structum thalamo; postesque superbi 

Auro intercisi, gemmisque nitentibus ardent. 

Aurea barbarici lectum velamina texti 

Strata tegunt : sed non placidum haec dat pompa soporem, 

Namque vigil studiis, curisque ingentibus aeger 

Volvitur: amissos Belgas, tot damna, tot uno 

Exhaustas bello vires : nihil omnibus actum 

Insidiis armisque gemit ; mentemque remordet 

Indignanl : et jam primo fulgentis ephebi 

Territus aspectu, vidit, exauditque vocantem, 

Nunciaque aethereis tradentem talia verbis 

O dilecte Deo ! et superis data cura Philippe ! 

Qui regis Hesperiam sceptris utramque superbis, 

Germanaeque aliquam partem telluris, et omnem 

Sicaniam 3 et Sardos, 3 Solymamque ascribis honori : 

Ac super imperiis tantis novus aureus orbis 

Accidit ; una tuos excussit Belgia 4 fraenos 

Impunis victrixque : quid heu bella irrita tentas ? 

Nee tandem ut socias inimica Britannia vires 

Substruat aeternum, sentis, foveatque rebelles? 

Quin petis hanc, Martemque domos agis ultor ad ipsas 

Saxonidum : et Belgas ictu consternis eodem 

Imbelles. En nunc summis Deus autor ab astris 

Me tibi ferre dedit magnis haec nuncia jussis : 

Romanusque armis pater execrabile regnum 

Devovet ipse tuis ; nos et tibi protinus omnes 

Europae populos, mox totum adjungimus orbem. 

Sic ait; et calicem in fauces cunctantis apertas 

1 No modern Latin poet would be so likely to give to Nox the 
epithet impia as Milton. He connects night with foulness and 
primeval darkness and chaos. He ascribes to it an origin from below : 
" Merit6 igitur Poetae noctem Inferis exurgere scriptitarunt, cum im- 
possibile plane sit aliunde tot tantaque mala nisi ab eo loco mortalibus 
invehi." Opera, ed. 1698, iii. 342. 

* Sicania was Sicily. We have in Milton's Fourth Elegy : 

Ipse ego Sicanio fraenantem carcere ventos 
Aeolon, et virides sollicitabo Deos. 

3 The Sardi were the inhabitants of Sardinia. 

4 For this word see Excumis on Belgia. 


Ingerit, ac pleno ferventia subluit haustu 
Pectora : dilapsumque l atras se reddit in umbras 
Ille tremens ; O Sancte ! Dei seu nuncius alti, 
Seu (reor) ipse Deus, tibi fidimus, et tua nulla 
Jussa mora sequimur : medios ne deinde paratus 
Desere, structa tuo victis de nomine terris 
Templa, sacerdotumque chores, festumque sacrabo, 
Sis armis dux ipse meis: tu maximus autor, 
Tu rege, successuque pari promissa secunda. 
Talibus averso fugientem in nubila vultu 
Prosequitur precibus, votoque lacessit inani : 
Et jam jamque magis sacro praecordia potu 
Incaluere ; truces oculos, altumque cerebrum, 
Corripuit magici rabies decocta veneni, 
Sanguineam expirans animam, flatusque tumentes. 
Exilit ille furens thalamis, fremit arma per arcem, 
Anna, novosque ultro spiral jam victor honores : 
Magnanimosque duces, pronamque in tanta juventam 
Bella ciet dictis ; oculisque ardentibus auras 
Inficit, ac dirum ferri transfundit amorem. 
Qualis in effaetam 2 vicino vertice quercum 
Flamma polo jaculata cadit, deprensaque pascit 
Brachia ramorum, sylvamque amplectitnr omnem ; 
Turn facilemque vorat segetem, regnatque per agros 
Purpureis diffusa comis, pecudesque ferasque 
Horror agit, collesque immani 3 luce refulgent. 

1 Cf. Virgil, Aeneid, iv. 410, de Proteo. 

. . . aut in aquas tenues dilapsus abibit 

2 These epithets are worth noting as being the author's independent 
choice i.e., they are not mere repetition of classical phrases and 
thoughts, as are so many of the fine Latin verses of the Renaissance 
Poets : there is nothing of the Virgilian Cento in the Armada epic. 
This I claim as Milton ic. 

3 Among the rules which the great critic Longinus laid down for 
obtaining success in the "Sublime Style" of composition was this 
special one, that an author should imitate the most celebrated authors 
who had gone before him, and had been engaged in works of a 
similar character. If, for instance, a poetical subject is taken, then 
it should be considered how Homer would have spoken on such an 
occasion, or Virgil. By this means one great genius often catches 
the flame from another, and writes in his spirit without servilely 
copying him. 

This was Milton's plan, and he carried it out more closely, perhaps, 
than any great poet of modern times. Hence he has been improperly 
termed a plagiarist, and enemies such as Lauder and others have done 



Ecce operum merces tantorum, et meta furorum 
Occurrit Britonum l tellus, quae littore flexo 
Excipit abruptas hinc atque hinc aequoris undas 
Heu mediis secura malis ! nam Christus ab alto 
Aethere prospiciens saevae molimina gentis, 

their best and worst to depreciate him. But as a rule Milton touched 
nothing among the conceptions of the poets who preceded him 
without adorning, raising, and ennobling his original. This is evident 
again and again when we compare his conceptions in Paradise Lost 
and elsewhere with the original patterns which he had mentally 
absorbed by his extensive reading. And this remark holds good for 
many fine passages of Nova Solyma, an excellent example being 
that awful peal of laughter which Terror sent forth, and the effects 
ensuing as described in the third extract from the Armada epic. This 
lofty passage is clearly derived from the horrifying shout of the 
blinded Polpyhemus, when he found that he could not reach his 
escaping foes. The effects of this awful cry of the Cyclops, as 
described in &neid iii. 672., are undoubtedly finely conceived by 
Virgil, and critics have generally praised the sublimity of imagination 
therein expressed. But I submit with some degree of confidence 
that the author of Nova Solyma has, when dealing with his similar 
conception, made it even more sublime than that of his great original. 
Tis Ercles' vein at his best, such as Milton was wont to use, and 
it is in such passages that our Apelles lets us discover him behind 
the curtain. 

Terror's " awful laugh " is dealt with more fully at its proper place 
in the notes (Latin Armada Epic, Part III.). 

The influence of Virgil as seen in Milton and Nova Solyma is shown 
in detail in Excursus (Virgil, Milton, Nova Solyma). 

Lastly, I would draw the attention of the scholar to the fine simile 
(as it appears to me) with which our author concludes his first 
fragment of the Armada epic, as above. Here seems in embryo 
that grand imaginative faculty which was later on to venture upon 
still higher themes. Sannazar, to whom the palm is given by many 
critics for modern Latin verse, in his most famous poem tries to 
depict a similar conception : 

ardere putares 
Arva procul, totamque incendi lumine montem. 

Compare this with the simile above. How bald in comparison ! 

1 For the Miltonic proof of this, which is to a great extent an 
academical word, see more in the Excursus (Britonum). 


Sic patitur propriusque sinens instare periclum, 
Supremam fert ipse manum, sopitque paratum 
Mortalem, et tantos in se convertit honores. 
Ilicet aetheriis divQm qui praesidet armis 
Architheum ad sese nutu vocat, atque ita fatur : 
Maxima coelicolum, queis credita cura raeorum est. 
Nonne vides Erebi raotus? Non arma Philippi, 
Anna 1 minasque graves, et ni mea cura resistat,* 
Anglorum extincto deletam nomine gentem ? 
I, celer, i, castris caelestibus eripe turmas ! 
Infernasque averte manus, vinclisque sacratis 
Indue : turn Mauri non aequo Marte repulsi, 
Sed strepitu et vanis dirae formidinis umbris, 
Diffugiant: ventisqne nihil miserantibus acti, 
In vada praecipitent Gallorum, et Hibernica saxa, 
Perque Caledonium pelagus, fluctusque Batavos, 
Omnibus inde satis spoliorum gentibus errent. 
Hac mercede ruant, qui me et mea regna lacessunt. 
Hsec breviter : nee plura loqui matura sinit res : 
Nee sinit Architheum cunctantia reddere dicta. 

1 The repetition of arma in succeeding lines is very Miltonic. We 
have an exact parallel in Elegy, iii. 47, 48 : 

Serpit odoriferas per opes levis aura Favoni, 
Aura sub innumeris humida nata rosis; 

also those well-known lines : 

More safe I sing with mortal voice, unchanged 
To hoarse or mute, though fallen on evil days, 
On evil days though fallen, and evil tongues 

(Paradise Lost, vii. 24-26), 

and other examples; it is a favourite device with Milton. It occurs, 
too, again in Nova Solyma in the Bridal Song of Divine Love : 

Frustra recorder oscula et amplexus tuos 
Oscula quae volucres diripuere notae. 

We know whence Milton obtained these beautiful repetitions and 
turns. It was from his beloved masters Homer and Virgil. See 
Iliad, xii. 127, xx. 371, etc., and Virgil, Aeneid, vii. 586: 

Ille, velut pelagi rapes immota resistit ; 
Ut pelagi rapes. . . . 

J Virgil, Aeneid, ii. 599. A Virgilian hemistich, and the only one in 
the whole epic. The author has elsewhere expressed himself against 
Virgilian centos, and is consistent with his own views throughout his 


Evolat, et toto coeli ciet undique regno 
Ductoresque pios, conjuratasque cohortes. 
Sedibns illi omnes ardent exire beatis, 
Et servire Deo. Fert dextra Syntheus hastam 
Arduus ingentem, pharetrataque turba sequuntur, 
Proximus attollit flammantem Zatheus ensem, 
Sydereo sublimis equo, ferroque furentem 
Extimulat, sed fraena manu simul aurea tendit : 
Ardentesque equitum pulchro rapit ordine turmas. 
Ipse autem bijugo vehitur super aethera curru 
Architheus, viridi praecinctus tempora lauro, 
Ferratumque mauu sceptrum vibrante cpruscat. 
Ilium humiles servare pios, flentesque receptos, 
Sub pedibusque juvat fastas calcare superbos. 
Turba simul sacris coeli subit aurea campis, 
Luce coronati fratres, currusque volantes : 
Quam multas serae nigra in caligine noctis 
Undique scintillas medio disseminat antro 
Ferrum, iminane, rubens, formandum incude gementi 
Cum Chalybes, primes alternant ocyus ictus. 
Interea portis coeli considit in ipsis 
Christus et aeterna se maj estate refulgens 
Attollit solio ; regali iucincta corona. 
Frons humana nitet ; dextra venerabile sceptrum l 
Exerit, et laeva servatum sustinet orbem. 
Circumstant sacri proceres, fidique ministri. 
Concilio bonus Ergotheus : face dextra corusca, 
Et radiis incensus apex ; laenamque fluentem 
Aurea sub geminis succingit zona papillis. 

1 The last e of venerabile is accounted by grammarians long before 
the sc of sceptrum, so here is a mistake in prosody, and we have 
several of the same kind in Nova Solyma. Now Milton has been 
castigated by the great scholars of the Continent for this very fault ; 
for he has allowed vowels to remain short before sp, sc, st, etc., 
more than twenty times in his collected Latin Poems. Scholars do 
not admit this kind of scansion nowadays, although there are many 
instances in the classic writers, for Ovid sins nineteen times, Lucretius 
twelve, Horace nine, and Virgil seven ; and the great Buchanan in 
his Baptistes, Act I. i. 14 admits " Crudelg sceptrum saevus Herodes 
gerit " as an Iambic trimeter. Coming nearer to our own days, one 
of the best of the Oxford prize poems is the Vis Electrica of Lord 
Grenville, a fine Eton scholar, and in this poem we have " ErgonS 
spreta," etc. So it is not a hanging matter after all ; but these supposed 
blots in Milton's verse appearing also in Nova Solyma seem to hint 
at the true author. 




Talis erat : tales socii velamine picto 
Ornati insistunt ; sed cunctis altior extat 
Mystotheus vates, puraque in nube refulget. 
Turn sacer Opsitheus divini nuncius oris 
Cultibus aethereis fulgentes induit artus * 
Ipse latens radiis et spissi fulguris aura : 2 
Ut jubar accensum fontani luminis igni 
Attollit thalamis surgens Sol laetus Eois ; 
Diffunditque diem ; populisque optantibus orbem 
Detegit, exuperans flammis, mergitque comantes 
Luce premens vultus, et multo sydere condit. 3 
Inde satellitio sequitur delecta juventus, 
Nuda sinus, humerisque leves tantum induit alas ; 
Et regem flammis cinctum caelestibus ambit 
Laetaque perpetuo tollit praeconia cantu. 4 
Ceu totidem pasti fugiunt ad nubila cygni, 
Ordine surgentes longo, coeloque volantes 
Solvunt ora modis, perque humida colla canoros 
Effingunt numeros, et sydera voce lacessunt. 
Tempora Dorotheus sertis florentia tollit, 
Frugiferasque manus : donis nee talibus aequat 
Charithei sublime decus ; cui virginis ora, 
Impubesque genae, crinisque in colla revolvit 
Aureus, et roseo resplendet lumine vultus. 
Ipse nee Autotheum tanto contingit honore, 
Supremum, similemque Deo : quern nulla tueri 
Aut acies hominum, tremefactave Tartara possunt. 
Igneus est ollis vigor et caelestis origo 

1 So in Paradise Lost, vi. 351 : 

and as they please 
They (the angels) limb themselves. 

2 This is a fine and daring Latin expression, such as we might expect 
from the scholarly imagination of Milton, but hardly from any one 
else. Aura has a special meaning here, the same that it has occasion- 
ally in good classical writers, where commentators tell us that 
interdum aura significat tenue quiddam et varium ex aere et lumine 
resultans e.g. Virgil (SEneid, vi. 204) speaks of auraauri discolor. But 
examples are few, and the one in our text is both original and striking. 
It is Milton's, surely. 

3 This is a fine original simile, worthy of Milton, who was an early 
riser, and could certainly describe the sunrise well ; but the one that 
succeeds is still finer. F 'or fontani luminis, cf. Lticret. v. 282. 

4 A melodious line, repeated in another poem farther on. Milton, 
Ad Patrem, 33, has one equally fine : 

Dulcia suaviloquo sociantes carmina plectro. 


Spiritibus : lapsosque premunt victricibus armis 
Tartareos hostes : magnique aeterna Parentis 
Viribus extremis alacres mandata perimplent. 


lamque catenatae naves nexaque coibant 
Et trabibus densis latera ardua circumtectae, 
Curvatae in faciem Lunae, cum menstrua septem 
Pubescit noctes, mediave a parte senescit. 
Constant : amplexusque avidos, et hiantia laxant 
Cornua: ceu vasta spumans vertigine vortex, 
Aequoris in medio, piscesque, puppesque propinquas 
Haurit agens; ruptique intorquet faucibus Orci. 
Angligenae tanto firmatas robore classes 
Incassum circumsiliunt, sylvosaque telis 
Oppugnant castella procul, cautique minantur : 
Haud secus oppugnat vaccas impastus Hibernas, 
Hue illuc agili lupus obsidione, coactas 
Unanimem in circum, medioque imbellia vallo 
Pignora tuta tremunt, mollesque ad terga remittunt 
Mugitus : surgunt insuetae matribus irae 
Ille furit, nescitque fames frustrata reverti, 
Quaesitamque dapem septam tot cornibus horret. 1 
Christus at hoc cernens, rebus succurrere fessis 
Destinat : his mentem immittit farcire carinas 
Ignibus armatas piceis, ac sulphure nigro. 
Ac simul ordinibus divum e stipantibus unum 
Dositheum aethereis habilem sic increpat alis. 
Vade puer celeremque seca per nubila cursum, 
Terroremque voca : connexas perdere classes, 
Maurigenasque jube. Sic imperat. Ille per altum, 
Ocyor aspectu, mentisque simillimus ictui 
Evolat et caeco Terrorem accersit ab antro. 
Antrum immane, minax lapsuris undique saxis, 
Finibus Arctois positum sub nocte perenni ; 
Haud loca nota viris : habitant in littore phocae, 
Ursique informes, et corpora dira ferarum, 
Infaustaeque stryges ; totoque in limine circum 
Stant lemures, umbraeque et spectra nocentia visu ; 
Turn mala Prodigia, et dubiae Discrimina vitae, 

1 This simile is expanded from Aeneid, ix. 59-64, and cows are 
substituted for Virgil's sheep. 


Captivique Metus : atque ingens incubat Horror. 1 

Inde ruit ; magnaque tremens vi concitus astat, 

Corpus inane volans, 2 cinctum omnibus undique monstris. 

lussaque tanta capit divini ex ore ministri. 

Terrorum rex dire ! cavam nunc desere sedem ; 

Christi jussa vocant : Hispanam disjice classem, 

Quaeque parant fessi flammantia tela Britanni, 

Tu rege rapta manu. Tali sermone ciebat 

Laetantem nimium tantos miscere tumultus : 

Ille fremens, quantum displosa tonitrua 3 reddunt, 

Et quantum freta qua sese gemina aequora rumpunt, 

Horrendum attollit risum : tremit Arctica tellus, 

Diffissaeque jugis rupes, aeternaque ponti 

Fracta sono glacies, moto caelum axe tremiscit. 4 

At non mortali turbatum voce ministrum, 

Pone premens, vasti sequitur super avia ponti ; 

Monstratasque rates pernicibus occupat alis. 

Ipse gubernator rectis incursibus actas 

Hesperiam rapit in classem, ceu tela tot arcu, 

Aut dextra contorta volant: simul arma facesque 

Sulphureos furens mediis in navibus ignes 

Spargit utraque manu : simul horridus ingruit ipse ; 

Ferratasque alas * quatit importunus ad ova ; 

Exhauritque animos : illi statione soluta, 

Diripiuntque ruuntque : neque hinc victoria curae, 

Nee quaesitus honos, praedaeque insana cupido: 

Terror agit, mentesque truci formidine solvit. 

Noctigenam tantis intenti casibus Angli 

Viribus instructis ima post terga sequuntur ; 

Turbatosque super medio in discriminis aestu 

1 Cf. Milton's poem In Quintum Novembris, lines 139-54, where 
we have several similar conceptions : 

Antrum horrens scopulosum, atrum feralibus umbris 

Exanguisque locum circumvolat Horror. 

These cave descriptions are Spenserian in style. We shall meet 
Horror again in the Bridal Song. 
* Paradise Lost, xi. 561. 

3 Ibid., vi. 605. 

4 See Excursus (Terror's Laugh). 

5 But though the " iron wings" of the text may be a reminiscence of 
Spenser, I am able to bring a much more striking parallel passage 
from another favourite author of Milton's, the Christiad of Marcus 
Hieronymus Vida. It occurs in Book V., where Fear is called forth 


Cominus insultant : et fulmina sulphuris atri 
(Heu populis ignota diu melioribus annis) 
Expediunt ; versantque latus : miserabilis intro 
Caesorum auditur gemitus : cruor impius undas 
Polluit : ingeminant ictus, et ferrea tela 
Trajiciunt per utrumque latus, malasque praealtas 
Deturbant pelago, et flammis aplustria perdunt : 
Aequora pulsa tenant, nox ignibus atra coruscat. 

(Vol. I., pp. 270-95.) 


Here, if my contention be true, we have something that should be 
of considerable interest to all poets and scholars. It is nothing less 
than Milton's first attempt at an epic. Milton's chief fame is derived 
from his grand epics of Paradise Lost and Regained. They were the 
products of his blind age, and no one has supposed that he had ever 
courted the Epic Muse before. His early loves in college and Horton 
days were the Lyrical Muse and the Lyrical Drama : U Allegro, 
Comtes, The Arcades, the Hymn on the Nativity. 

At Cambridge, and later on in his father's house, he began to try his 
wings, and his first flight from earth was into the realms of romantic 
and lyrical poetry. Then in 1638 there was a pause, and he went 
into Italy on his travels, and was pluming himself, as he says, for a 
longer and loftier flight. He was meditating a great epic flight from 
Parnassus' Mount. 

But news came to him on his travels of danger to liberty by 

by Satan from her horrid abode, and sent to frighten Pilate 'from 
completing his purpose of releasing Jesus : 

Protinus horriferum latebrosa ab sede Timorem 
Evocat, atrum, ingens, et ineluctabile monstrum 

Fertque refertque volans circum importuna sonansque 
Nunc pectus, nunc ora nigris everberat alls, 
Immisitque gelu, et praecordia frigore vinxit, 

which may be expanded thus : 

Forthwith he summoned from his secret haunts 
That grisly phantom Fear, a monster huge 
Of swarthy mien, whom none can shirk or shun. 
He volant here and there with clattering swoop 
And horrid cries, wheeled round importunate, 
Flapping his sooty pinions o'er the face 
And at the breast of him he seeks, and strikes 
An icy chillness in his heart and reins. 

Besides the general similarity, I think the fact of the unusual word 
importunus, occurring in each passage, points clearly to a reminis- 
cence; and there is volans as well. 


prelates and King at home, and so his love of freedom and justice 
brought him back, a true republican patriot, to engage in many a 
battle of words and many noble prose perorations on behalf of the 
cause and party he had at heart. But to fight such a battle and such 
enemies the poet must needs come down from the larger ethereal air 
he had been wont to breathe, and dwell for a time amid the mists and 
storms of politics and controversy. So that early epic flight of his 
muse was laid aside and almost forgotten for nearly thirty years ! 

No great poet had ever come down from the Mount in mid-life for 
so long as that and then ascended to the very highest peaks even 
those seldom-trodden ones which look down, bathed in celestial light, 
upon the obscurer clouds beneath. Of that great second ascent in 
blind old age all the world knows the memory of it will never die 
while our language lasts but what of those earlier epic flights of 
which our great poet drops certain mysterious hints in his controversial 
works ? Are there any records of such soaring endeavours ? I am 
rejoiced to think there are, and it is to me a keen pleasure to be able, 
or at least to think I am able, to present them without the loss of a single 
word or a beauty after having escaped the notice of the literary world for 
more than two hundred and fifty years. They are reproduced in this 
Appendix ; and here we have, if I may be allowed to change the meta- 
phor, displayed to us for the first time that precious seed of Miltonic 
genius, which, after a long and barren rest of more than thirty years on 
the best of soils, was to take root downwards and- bear fruit upwards in 
those glorious other- world epics, Paradise Lost and Regained; and 
when that seed became a tree the whole world of culture and poetic 
fancy did rest with delight under the branches and shadow of it. 

The epic theme then chosen in seed-time was a British one the 
Armada. Our great poet desired to hand down to posterity, apart 
from any personal blame or praise that might fall to him, the glorious 
deeds of his native country fighting for her liberty against a foreign 
superstition and a foreign foe " doing valiantly through faith " against 
the enemies of all Christian people. 

He had, even so early as that, chosen his supernatural accessories 
his armed angels his heavenly overseers and interveners in the 
contest. And then, more than thirty years after, his armed angels 
were to fight again under other names, it is true, but still names chiefly 
from the poet's brain, and formed in both epics in exactly the same 

The grandly sounding Latin hexameters were to be exchanged for 
the finest and loftiest, the most varied and melodious English blank 
verse that has ever fallen to the power of man to build. Let us not 
regret this wonderful and most unusual pause and silence of song 
in the poet's life. It is true Mark Pattison regrets the years lost in 
political disputes and anti-prelatical rancour, but he is almost the only 
great critic on Milton who so expresses himself. The last epic would 
never have been so grand if it had been written, as first intended, 


soon after his Horton days. The years rolled on, and his eyes, by 
degrees weaker and weaker, at length were shut out from all view of 
the outer world ; and then, as we may believe, the eyes of the inner 
man were the more undimmed, having no passing mists of earthly 
objects to obscure their uplifted vision. Then was the great poet 
brought eye to eye with the glorious majesty of the courts of heaven, 
the " thund'rous throne," and that great company of angels and of 
saints who, like himself, did " stand and wait." We see in Nova 
Solyma what visions of the night fell on him to inspire and to comfort : 
how much more would that be so when night and day to him were 
both alike ! 


ITE leves animae, summi quas oris imago 
Ducit, et attonito stringit praecordia sensu : 
Quid juvat instabilem tantis ornare puellam 
Laudibus, et vanum spectri fugientis amorem ? 
Nee pudet heu sacro ceu divam attollere cultu. 
Ah magis aethereas coelo convertite mentes, 
Et formas spectate pares : Regemque decorum, 
Quern rerum supremus honos, et numinis alti 
Sacra coronatam suffundit gloria frontem. 
O Deus ! 6 generis nostri pulcherrime princeps ! 
Te pater, immense totum qui lumine mundum, 
Ceu fictum, nullumque videt, complexibus aequts 
Concipit, et simili satiatus imagine gaudet. 
Omnia te dominum sceptro subjecta verentur, 
Terrarum innumerae gentes, regesque superbi ; 
Te domiti telis manes victricibus horrent, 
Infernique lacus ; totus tibi consonet aether, 
Laetaque perpetuo tollit praeconia cantu. 
Tu lapses homines, nudaeque informia gentis 
Ora, reluctanti frustra pugnantia collo, 
Erigis et blandum prior internectis amorem ; 
Indulgesque tuis ; raptosque e faucibus Orci 
Aeterno fers ipse sinu ; coeloque receptas 
Consortes animas sacrati numinis imples 
Coelicolae decus insuetum mirantur hiantes: 
Atque ipsi thalamis cupiunt servire beatis ; 
Muneris et tanti sortem captare secundam. 
O hominum, divumque salus ! te pectore prono 
Insequor, et pulchrae lustro vestigia plantae : 
Quando erit ut sacros oculis agnoscere vultus ; 
Nos ut perpetuo liceat tibi jungere nexu, 
Et miscere animas, totumque absolvere Christum. 

(Vol. II., p. 40.} 

VOL. II. 19 



O sistitote quaeso ! 
Cor abstulit misellum, 
Et nunc abire caepit, 
Virique faeminaeque 
O sistitote quaeso ! 
O sistitote furem ! 
Est alba vestis illi, 
Et taeniae rubentes, 
Auroque zona fulgens : 
Sed Irons nitore puro, 
Vestemque liliumque, 
Nivemque vincit ipsam : 
Est luminumque fulgor 
Par syderi gemello : 
Est aureusque crinis 
Par Cynthii capillis : l 
Pedes sed heu venustos 
Natura non adaequat : 
Quin alteri necesse est 
Ut conferatur alter. 
Vos 6 cavete vobis 
Virique faeminaeque 1 
Nee blandulos notate 
Ocellulos * ocellis : 
Eburneamque frontem, 
Et aureos capillos, 
Pedesque pervenustos : 
Ne tarn decora virgo 
Unicuique 3 vestrum 

1 Compare Milton's " unshorn Apollo," At a Vacation Exercise, 
line 37. The original, I suppose, is Hor. Carm. i. 21. 2. 

2 See remarks on diminutives in Excursus on Prose Style of 
Nova Solyma. 

3 This word is Miltonic, for the prosody is faulty, and Milton 
makes exactly the same mistake in his Epigram to Leonora singing 
at Rome viz. " Angelus unicuique suus (sic credite, gentes) " is the 
first hexameter but Virgil makes cut a long monosyllable always. 
It is only some very minor poets who make it a dissyllable, e.g. : 

1116 ctii cernis Capitolia celsa Triumphis 

(Albinus Hist. Kom., i), 


Cor auferat misellum, 
Et sic abire pergat. 1 

(Vol. II., p. 99.) 





Sic nempe vanis dedita sensibus, 
Gens impiorum, sed male, disserit 
Heu vita velox, et laborum 

Perpetuis agitata poenis ; 
Mors saeva nulli dat veniam fugae, 
Raptum aut sepulchro solvit ab infero : 
Nam forte nos natura fingit 

In tenebras redigit peremptos. 

Unlcttlque' vices sanxitque, etc. 

(Manilius, lib. iii. 65), 

and curiously enough this very work of Manilius was one of the 
text-books recommended by Milton in his Tractate on Education 

The word suited Milton's ear, I suppose, and that was enough 
for him ; and the same may be said of the line in the Anacreontic 
here in Nova Solyma. 

1 These Latin Anacreontics came into favour rather late (in the 
sixteenth century), and something is said about them in the note 
to English translation. They always abound in jingling repetitions 
and multiplied diminutives. The above seems very fine and full 
of chaste reserve, compared with the great majority of such com- 
positions. If, as I believe, this is a genuine love-song of our great 
poet in his fervid youth, it cannot fail to interest all his admirers. For 
if we connect this little love lyric, as I think we may, with the love 
at first sight for the Daughter of Zion at the beginning of this 
Romance, and Milton's Queen of the May in his seventh Elegy, and 
consider in the same connection Milton's Ode to the Nightingale 
and certain lines of his first Elegy, we have then almost all that has 
been handed down to us of our illustrious poet's first love an 
ideal love in every sense, but how well befitting a nature like his ! 

The white robe, the red streaming ribbons, and the golden girdle, 
as described above, all seem, moreover, to point to something more 
than the ordinary walking dress, or even holiday dress, of an English 
maiden in fact, point again to the Queen of the May. 


Ceu fumus halat spiritus, ut citae 
Scintilla flammae, cor agit intimum 
Putrescit extinctum cadaver ; 

Mens liquidae perit instar aurae. 
Famamque vanam factaque nescient, 
Sera nepotes : ceu fuga nubium, 
Sic vita transit : ceu solutum 
Sol abigit radiis vaporem. 

And so on to the end of the chapter. 

CAP. V. 

Turn se pudendi criminis integer 
Attollit audax ora sub hostium : 
Qui pristinos mercede sera 

Crediderant vacuos labores. 
Heu conspicati pectora turbido 
Terrore solvent : dum super ultimam 
Surgentis expectationem 

Insolitum decus obstupescunt. 

Sero pigentes, et gemitu gravem 
Testante luctum, taliter infrement: 
En iste dedignantis olim 

Dedecus, opprobriumque mundi, 
Stulti carentem mente putavimus ; 
Lethoque nullara surgere gloriam ; 
Nunc inter ascriptus beatam 

Progeniem, superosque regnat, 
Ergo secutos tramite devio 
Umbras inanes, nos * neque consciae, 
Lux veritatis, nee decorum 

Justitiae jubar est obortum. 

And so on to the last verse of chapter v., which the 
author finishes thus : 

Turn foeta saevam nubila grandinem, 
Balista saxum ceu rotat, ingerent ; 
Pontique debacchantis aestus, 
Vorticibus rapiet profundis. 

(Vol. II., p. 119.) 

1 I think this is a slip in grammar on the author's part, and should 
be nobis. But Salmasius and others have showed us that Milton 
also occasionally erred in this way. The pedants were shocked, 
and thought him a bad scholar. 


Altogether the text has 164 lines, and each verse of the 
Book of Wisdom is included exactly in a corresponding 
alcaic stanza. 

I have thought that scholars would like to see these 
extracts, as Milton left only one short alcaic among his 
acknowledged Latin poems, and there have been very 
diverse opinions as to the merits of that solitary specimen. 
Landor, who ought to know, but was rather a self- 
sufficient critic, condemns Milton's alcaic as a poor 
thing, and adds that the true rules for writing alcaics 
were not known in those days ! " It is a very bad one. 
The canons of this metre were unknown in Milton's time " 
(Landor, iv. 521). Masson says in his notes on it, "Pretty 
mythological language, and good Horatian verse." E. 
des Essarts, in his thesis on Milton's imitation of the 
ancients, praises it, and says : versute flectit. All I can 
say is, Non nostrum . . . tantas componere lites. 

But I would deprecate such trifling as Landor sometimes 
indulges in under the cloak of criticism. He objects to 
a stanza of this solitary alcaic of Milton's work at the 
age of seventeen because he there says of Dr. Gostlin, 
whose death was the subject of the ode : 

Laetus superstes, nee sine gloria 
Nee puppe lustrasses Charontis 
Horribiles barathri recessus. 

Landor fixes his fangs on that word barathri : he objects 
to it, and insists that Dr. Gostlin was not going that way, 
and could not see the Gulf from the deck ! Surely this 
is unworthy trifling. Who knows what way Landor 
himself had to take ? Who has the right to insist that 
he was going one way rather than the other ? I am sure 
Landor had the devil's tares sown amongst his wheat 
as much as most of us, but I don't pretend to say which 
way Jie went. 

The alcaics of Nova Solyma being in much greater 
bulk than the solitary specimen to Dr. Gostlin's memory, 
give us a better chance of judging the author's skill. 
The third line of an alcaic is generally considered to 




be the most likely obstacle to cause a bad workman 
to "come a cropper." Milton stumbled once (in line 31) 
in his single youthful alcaic of forty-eight lines, and did 
not stumble more than two or three times in all the 
164 lines of his close translation of the Book of Wisdom, 
supposing it to be his. 

But, putting aside metrical minutiae, I think critics 
will agree with me that we have here an excellent 
rendering of two very fine chapters of Semitic faith in 
God. I wish space allowed me to transcribe the whole. 


STAT sacris sita montibus 
Sedes aetherei regia numinis. 

Portas ille Sionias 
Jacobi reliquis plus amat aedibus, 

Urbs 6 grata Deo ! tibi 
Spondent non tenuem surgere gloriam : 

Memphim sed neque negligam ; 
Nee me jam Babylon impia nesciet: 

Palestinaque civibus 
Quaeret cum Tyriis, et niger Aethiops 

Omnes hie erat editus, 
Dicent de Solymis, hie erat editus. 

Necnon omnipotens pater 
Aeternis statuet maenia seculis : 

Albo qui populos suo 
Conscribit memorans, hie erat editus. 

Hanc cantu liquido chori, 
Hanc tollunt litui murmure consono 

Omnes laetitiae meae 
Fontes in Solyma sospite confluunt. 1 

(Vol. II., p. 167.) 

1 This, too, although Horatian (" Sic te Diva potens Cyprei "), is an 
uncommon metre, consisting of a Glyconic and an Asclepiad, and is 
a"Very good 'and close translation of the original. The author seems 
to have aimed specially at a close rendering, just as Milton did when 
he translated this very Psalm and eight others into English in 1648. 
Milton put Jn italics < all words not in the original, which he had to 
add to fill up the metre, and his attempt was not a successful one. 
If the same plan were adopted in the Latin version above, there would 
be very few italics. Yet the Latin seems flowing and melodious, 
and not at all cramped by the rigid artifice the poet determined to 



SALVE sancta dies, aevi venientis imago 

Nostro tradita Christo ! 
Hinc sordes et terra vale ! satis hisce, superque 

Sex impendere luces. 
Aera sonant, pulsuque vocant tremefacta canoro, 

Ad Dominique Deique. 
Hue alacres, hue quisque sui de limine tecti 

Puris tendite plantis. 
Hie neque sanguineo poscit dispendia cultu 

Armentive gregisve : 
Prima nee instituunt humiles elementa figurae : 

Sed lux aurea vitae 
Attonitas penetrat subito ceu fulgure mentes, 

Sacri numinis igne. 
Scilicet et superi circum laquearia Divi 1 

Pronis auribus adsunt : 

use, nor does he here murder the beauties of the Psalmist King. In 
fact, this Latin rendering is much better than Milton's English one of 
the same Psalm, for in the latter murder is certainly committed and 
Milton becomes a regicide while King Charles I. is still alive. I have 
compared this fine rendering with many others, including Buchanan's 
attempt, which is in iambics (trimeter and dimeter), and I think 
this little well-cut gem from Nova Solyma more than holds its own. 
I claim it with some confidence for the youthful Milton. The great 
Buchanan begins thus : 

Abramidarum caeteras urbes supra 

Dominus Sionis diligit 
Portas Sionis, imminet quae montium 

Fundata sanctis collibus 
O praedicanda posteris sec'lis Sion 

Beata mater urbium, etc. 

Surely neither so close to the original nor so musical as our 
anonymous production. 

1 When Venus addresses Jupiter in the roth ^Enetd she says : 

O pater, o hominum DitiAmque aeterna potestas. 

Now, Buchanan was most severely criticised because he borrowed 
this line to begin his version of the fourth Psalm. 

But Christian poets had used the word for the angels, and they 
are so called in the Hebrew Psalms, for Elohim = Divi. Ps. Ixxxix. 7, 
Ps. viii. 6, Ps. xcvii. 7, when Arias Mostanus translates it Incurvate 
ei omnes Divi, and the LXX. version has it, " Worship Him all ye 
angels of His," whence Heb. i. 6 and our authorised version. 

Therefore Milton used Divi as scriptural. See also note to second 
Armada fragment (translation). 




Dum sua mortales expandunt munera linguae, 

Et miracula Christi. 
Nunc juvat aeternum coelesti in sede parentem 

Affari prece prona : 
Ille vigil nostras avida bibit aure querelas, 

Et quaesita perimplet: 
Ut pater indulgens puerum promissa petentem 

Blaesis vocibus audit. 
Nunc juvat unanimes divino carmine cantus 

Toto tollere templo. 
O gaudete Deo, gentes ! accedite festo 

Coram Numine versu ! 
Ille Deus, Deus ille, genus mortale creavit ; 

Nee nos finximus ipsi. 
Ipse suos censet famulos, et frugibus almis, 

Pastor ceu pecus explet. 
Ite, nee ingratas in laudem solvite linguas 

Intra moenia templi ! 
Haec aequum est praestare Deo, summisque beatum 

Nomen tollere verbis. 
Est bonus est omni miseris mitissimum idem, 

Et verissimus aevo. 

(Vol. II., p. 184.) 


Hue ades 6 dilecta! diu sat lumina noctem ; 
Sat nimis ingratam ceperunt membra quietem : 
Hei mihi nocturno concrescunt rore capilli ; 
Et nunc ora rigent pallentis frigore Lunae ; 
Dum queror et servo tua limina, desere tandem 
Infames thalamos et desidis otia lecti. 
lam canit erecto connixus gutture gallus, 1 
Et vigil auroram geminata voce salutat. 
Quae te longa tenent insomnia ? quis tibi tantus 

1 There is a good parallel passage to this, hailing from Milton's 
school or early college days, discovered with his Commonplace Book 
about thirty years ago. It is in a prolusion against the morning 
sluggard : " Surge igitur, surge deses, nee semper teneat te mollis 
lectus." Some elegiacs are tagged on, and here we find : 

Jam canit excubitor gallus praenuncius ales 
Soils et invigilans ad sua quemque vocat. 

"The early village cock" seems to have much impressed Milton in 
his earlier days, for besides mentioning the bird of dawn several times 


Incubat et tristem nocti sopor adjicit umbram? 
Jam venit et fuscas accendit Lucifer auras, 
Stellarumque chores verso deducit Olympo. 
Surge ! quid indulges nimiae moritura quieti ? 
Ah ne te primo languentem Cynthius ortu 
Spectet et immisso nudam sub lumine prodat. 
Quin ego per dubiae postrema crepuscula Lunae 
Irrumpam et tacitd discludam lumina dextr4 ; 
Et surrepta graves adiment haec oscula l somnos : 
Surge, nee aeterno posthac concede sopori. 

in his other college exercises, the Second Brother in Comus says, 
" Might we but hear the 

village cock 

Count the night watches to his feathery dames, 
"Twould be some solace. 

(Comus, 346.) 
And every one knows, I hope, the lines, 

While the cock, with lively din, 
Scatters the rear of darkness thin. 

(L Allegro, 49.) 

We may note the use of deses (not a very common word) in both 
parallel passages. The desidis otia lecti of our text is perhaps a 
reminiscence of the desidis otia vitae of Statius, Silv. iii. 5. 85. It 
is also in Columella, vii. 12, Milton's favourite text-book, but is not in 
Virgil, or, I believe, any classical poet except Lucan. 

Is " connixus gutture gallus " a mild attempt at the sound of a 
cock-crow ? Milton delighted in such endeavours to represent sounds, 
and I have gathered some parallel attempts from Nova Solyma, for 
which see Excursus K. But I do not press this one, nor have I 
added it to my list in the Excursus. 

1 The very chaste way in which the warm language of the Song 
of Solomon is made the basis of this beautiful Bridal Song is very 
Miltonic. From beginning to end the author never goes beyond 
oscula^ as in text. It was the most chaste word for kiss that the Latin 
language possessed, and our great Christian poet claimed it for his 
Song of Divine Love it, and it alone. No doubt he knew the dictum 
of Servius, the Virgilian commentator, osculum filiis dart, scorto suavium ; 
and as for basia, the Basia of Johannes Secundus would have been 
sufficient to exclude that word. Other Christian Latin poets were 
by no means so particular when they dealt with this Song of Songs. 
" Osculetur me osculo oris suz," is how it begins ; some of them began 
thus : 

Suaviolum roseis Dilectus dulce labellis 
Det meus ille mini, facilis det suavia mille, 

(Joh. Kerrus, Prof. Hum. Lit. in Acad. Edinburg.) 

This is rather expansive, and a bit " high " for a sedate Professor 


Hei mihi ! quae placidam disrumpunt visa quietem 

Qui labra labris inserens 
Afflavit teneram sacro spiramine mentem, 

Et molle cor incendio ? 
Qui pulchros abiens in me deflexit ocellos, 

Amoris omen intimi. 
Pulchrior es certe nostra de gente creatis : 

Divinus apparet decor : 
Pulchrior aurato nascentis sydere Phoebi ; 

Qui flammeum spargit 1 diem 
Te licet ignotum primo mens perdita visu 

Non lenitur desiderat 
Te sequor infaelix, etenim tua vestis amomi 

Caesiaeque suavis halitum 
Spiral et effusam redolent vestigia myrrham : 

Ergo sequuntur virgines 
Ah quibus illecebris, vel quo te munere victum 

Amore nectam mutuo ? 
Has ego purgatas Tiberino flumine sordes, 

Baiisque totis abluam. 
Et quamvis lapsam nativa tabe salutem 

Herbis reducem Colchicis 
Quinetiam niveos cerussae munere vultus, 

Minioque pingam Baetico. 
Ipsa novam multa contexam Pallade* vestem 

Quae nuda membra contegat 

at Edinburgh (!) of all places. I think the great anagrammatfet 
Fidalmi began much better when he started his tour de force on the 
Canticles with these two very fine anagrams on the words of the 
Vulgate quoted above : Osculetur me osculo orts sui : 

Si lustro crucem volo os Jesu 
O Jesu tollis voce sursum cor. 

But John Ker had many equally daring exponents of the Biblical 
Love Song to keep him in countenance, and both he and they attuned 
their lyres to strains that seemed of earth rather than of Heaven. 
Not so did Joseph in the text, nor would the " Lady of Christ's" demean 
himself to the language of Midian or Babylon. Here I think we have 
his voice, in the language of Zion that he loved. 

1 The same beautiful Miltonic word as before in the song of 
Auximus. See note there. 

* Minerva, or Pallas, besides being Goddess of Wisdom and Culture, 
was Goddess of the Loom, patron of those who prepared the wool 
for it (lanifidum), and reputed irwentrix of the art. Hence Virgil, 


Aurea dona sinu fundet mihi barbarus orbis, 

Gemmasque Ganges erutas. 1 
Undique Panchaeos thalamis afflabit odores 

Fragrantis Euri spiritus. 

Aeneid, viii. 408, uses Minerva for the art itself, by a well-known 
classical figure of speech : 

cum faemina, primum 
Cui tolerate colo vitam, tenuique Minerva, etc. ; 

but our author, like Milton, if he allows himself to borrow an 
expression, will put his own mark on it. Multd Pallade is original 
and rather daring novum et audaculum. 

1 " Gems of Ind." I think the word barbarus especially, and the 
whole passage generally, points to Milton, whose second book of 
Paradise Lost thus begins : 

High on a throne of royal state, which far 
Outshone the wealth of Ormus and of Ind, 
Or where the gorgeous East with richest hand 
Showers on her kings barbaric pearl and gold, 
Satan exalted sat." 

As we well know, the Greeks and Romans accounted all other nations 
barbarous ; thus Virgil : 

Barbarico postes auro spoliisque superbi . . . 

(Aeneid, ii. 504.) 

Hinc ope barbarica variisque Antonius armis 
Victor ab aurorae populis. 

{Aeneid, viii. 685.) 

Hence Milton adopts it with good effect, and so does our Apelles- 
Milton, both above and also in the Armada epic (Part I.) where the 
royal bed of Philip of Spain is thus described : 

Postesque superbi 

Auro intercisi, gemmisque nitentibus ardent ; 
Aurea barbarici lectum velamina texti 
Strata tegunt, 

The royal bed 

Whose sumptuous pillars all inlaid with gold 
Sparkled with studding gems ; the coverlets 
Lay thick with golden threads inwrought : the spoil 
Of barbarous lands. 

Here Aeneid, ii. 504 is pretty well used up by our author, who takes 
four words out of the five to adorn his description, anil yet our 
Apelles-Milton is no more a base plagiarist than our illustrious John. 
They both alike take or touch nothing without adorning it. 




The dialogue goes on in varied metres, but space 
forbids the reproduction. At length the double chorus 
of country maidens and young shepherds come before 
us with the following elegiacs : 

Chorus of 

Sunt nitidi flores, texendisque optima sertis 

Lilia, sunt alto sydera nata polo : 
Phoenicem ' volucres penna plaudente sequuntur : 

Aligeri rosea luce nitent super! 
At vos, 6 coeli ! 6 tellus ostendite ! si quid 

Virgine formosa pulchrius esse potest. 

Chorus of Sunt albae pecudes, et purae vellera lanae : 
shepherds. Pastor ubi liquidis corpora lavit aquis. 

At si tu rostrum venias formose per agrum : 

Sordet ovis, niveo lana colore caret. 
Non tamen 6 pecudes quod vos hunc vincere credam 
Sit pudor, aethereum vincit et ille genus. 

Double chorus of Mollis olor niveis et sponsa simillima pennis, 

maidens and 

Qui super innocuae stagna sedetis aquae, 
Vos simul aequales thalamo deducitis annos ; 

Et sacer in teneris mentibus ardet amor. 
Ah nostrae, quoties hue venerit ilia, sorori 

Dicite vos superum vivere regna pares. 

The Bride's reply. Virginei caetus, aequaevaque turba puellae, 

Vosque leves citharae, vosque valete chori ; 
Non ego me posthac comitem venatibus addam, 
Aut timidis tendam retia rara feris. 

stultae ! me immensus amor torretque tenetque, 
Oblectans animam nocte dieque meam. 

The chorus of O beata surge tandem linque lectum conjugis, 
country maidens Aucta donis, et decoris enovata gratiis ; 

e es Ecce nymphas, ecce cunctas antecellis virgines : 
chamber calling ._ . x . ,. 

Bracteam nitore vincit vestis hie argeuteam : 
her home again. 

Haec catena gemmularum fulget instar syderum 

Ne reconde tot decores, totque dotes aureas, 

1 revise tecta matris, et sorores pristinas ; 
Ecce vinea racemos in paterna colligunt. 
Ipsa carpe vitis uvas vinolentae lividas, 
Has et illas et petitas ore laeto devora. 
Nunc eamus et legamus capita florum mollia, 
Nexa sertis et corollis induamus tempora. 

1 See Excursus Q (The Phoenix). 


Nunc eamus et legamus conchulas sub rupibus, 
Colla pulchris vinciamus, et mantis monilibus. 
Nunc eamus et premamus fessulae cubilia : 
Et sopore blanda sero somniemus somnia. 1 

(Vol. II., p. 229.) 

1 This is the metre of the famous PervigiKum Veneris, of which 
the refrain was : 

Cras amet qui nunquam amavit, quique amavit eras amet. 

Some (e.g. Mackail, Latin Literature, p. 244) call this metre the 
trochaic senarian verse, others style it a trochaic tetrameter catalectic 
or an octonarian trochaic truncated, but it has a far sweeter sound 
than the names men give it. 

It was (teste Mackail) freely used by the earliest Latin poets, but 
had almost dropped out of use till it was revised in the Pervigilium 
Veneris, with the additional beauties of frequent assonance and 
occasional rime, about the time of the Antonines or perhaps even 
later. These trochaic metres had a swing and cadence about them 
which made them popular favourites, and the soldiers and camp 
followers used them for their satirical songs on the great Julius 
Caesar, and, I doubt not, on other men of note as well. 

They have not lost their popularity in the present day, if we may 
judge from Tennyson's May Queen and Locksley Hall. 

If you're wdking call me early, || Call me early, m6ther de"ar, 

which is the same metre with the caesura in the same place as in the 
original Latin. 

In one of his lyrics (like the Pervigilium Veneris), a song of Spring, 
Tennyson comes very near explaining, as far as words can, the actual 
process through which some poetry comes into existence : 

The fairy fancies range, and lightly stirred 
Ring little bells of change from word to word. 

This is admirably true of some of Milton's melodious verse, in Latin 
as well as in English ; and the present " Maiden's Chorus before 
the Bridal Chamber " would bring no discredit (as an imitation and 
improvement on the Pervigilium Veneris) to the greatest Neo-Latin 
poet that ever lived, be he Sannazar, Buchanan, or even Bobus Smith 
(as Landor ranked him). 

Indeed, all who have tried, early and late, to emulate the Pervi- 
gilium, to me seem to have failed to reach the harmony and melody 
attained in this Maidens' Chorus. Prudentius composed his Hymn IX. 
in this metre, but it is much less melodious. 

Sebastian Hornmoldt (1595) and Andreas Catullus (1614) both tried to 
adapt it to sacred odes, but they were much inferior, although Catullus 





Having offered a fairly comprehensive selection from 
the versified portions of Nova Solyma, I now present a 
few specimens of the prose portion, beginning with the 
first four pages of the Romance. 

HAEC veris gratissima fades, coelum, mare, terras, condecoraverat ; 
cum tres simul egregii juvenes, illi Britannice, hie Siculo more vestitus, 
tristi et inauspicato itinere jam prospere peracto, montem cui Solyma 
insidet, equis conscendebant. Urbs erat in fastigio edita, moenibus 
praealtis amplissimisque et in quaternos aequales angulos per latera 
montium circumductis. Portae pro moenibns duodenae, valvaeque 
ex solido acre fabrefactae, superque firmissima turrium propugnacula 
proemuniebant adeundi licentiam. In his totidem familiarum gentiles 
notae frontispiciis insculptae, cum praescriptis majorum nominibus, 
portarum paritatem discriminabant. 

Illis a Juda ingredientibus ingens platea se aperit ; aedificiis saxeis, 
lateque diductis ; quaeque pari et per longissimos ordines conformi 
fronte totidem continentium domorum speciem referebant : neque 
extabant ulla vestigia J prioris Solymae ; sed alia ab integro renovata 
eundem loci situm porrectioribus spatiis occupaverat. 

Ubi paulo intra moenia devenerant, ecce in oculis ingens hominum 
consessus, ac in ipso compitorum trajectu spectacula 2 breviter pertransire 

(minor) had two rather rattling lines as to how saints should " chastely 
love " : 

Absque rixis nutibus salacibusque lusibus, 
Improbisque perditisque, languidisque basils, 
with the refrain : 

Sic amet qui nunquam amavit, quique amavit sec amet. 
Altogether this modern Catullus, who will be sought for in vain at 
the British Museum or Bodleian, gives us about a hundred and 
twenty lines of this metre, which is a large allowance. Nearer to 
our own days, Richard Bingham, in his Hymnodia Christiana Latina, 
1871, turns the hymn "O worship the King all glorious above " into 
this metre, and Tennyson's New Yearns Eve and the May Queen 
have been attempted in these same trochaics by T. A. Marshall 
(c. 1845) and C. Merivale ; but if lovers of musical Latin verse will 
take the trouble to make a comparison, I think they will find that 
Joseph-Apelles is quite able to hold his own. 
1 Luke xix. 44. 

1 This is the very word used by Milton in his seventh Elegy, where 
he describes how he met his first love on May Day : 

Haec ego non fugi spectacula grata severus. 

(Elegy, vii. 57.) 


visa sunt. Illi ocyus appropinquantes, quousque per multitudinis 
interventum liceret, post terga subsidentis populi, sublimes in equis se 
erigebant. Universa fere pompa processerat, restabat unica sed haec 
omnium pulcherrima species, jam turn ipsis consistentibus objecta : 
Vitis erat i'rugum foliorumque feracissima, et hinc inde procurvatis 
brachiis in tecti faciem inclinata. 

Duo palmites, qui caeteris praestabant, hie dextram, ille sinistram 
invalidae arboris, aemula firmitate in ostium statuminabant. 1 Bis 
quinque praeterea ab eadem radice progerminantes, interque se textim 
complicati, in parietes utrinque dividebantur. 

Super his reliquus erat unus, sed dispar, dissitusque ab aliis, qui 
sanguineo succo intumescens, dorsum totius arboris ad spinae modum 
sustentaret. Virgo sedebat in medio, habitu insigni, et praeter 
humanum morem coelestibus ornamentis convestita. 

Velum erat e caerulea bysso, et tenuissimis argenti filis intertextum ; 
stellulis quoque ex multicoloribus gemmis ad faciem syderum con- 
formatis, undiquaque conspersum. 

Aurea zona, sub papillis modice protuberantibus, represserat laxi- 
tatem vestimenti ad formam castigatissimi sinus. 2 Aureamque virgam 

1 Milton uses statuminare argumento in a college thesis (Opera, iii. 
348, ed. 1698) ; and also in his posthumous De Doctrina Christiana 
(p. 492) quotes Psalm cxlvii. 6 as Statuminat mansuetos Jehova where 
the Vulgate has suscipiens. The word is by no means usual, and 
seems to be only found in Columella, Pliny and Vitruvius. Statumen, 
according to Columella, was originally a prop to hold up a vine. So 
the word is very appropriate here. Milton especially recommends 

* A good classical expression : cf. Ovid, Amor. i. 5. 21, castigatum 
pectus. Forcellini tells us that castigatae mamillae sunt duriusculae, 
tumidulae, et quas stantes vocat, Plin. 30. 14. 45, and quotes the 
use of the very word by Q. Serenus Sammonicus. 

This seems going a long way for a reference, especially to such 
an almost unheard-of name or authority, at least nowadays. But 
the chances are that Milton knew of him, and had read his works. 
This Serenus was a doctor, and his works and those of A. Cornelius 
Celsus, another doctor, often went together. Now, Milton's great friend 
Diodati was a doctor, and other friends of his were of the same 
profession; and we know Milton had read Celsus, for he used him 
for his MS. Latin Dictionary. So Serenus is not such a long way 
off, after all. 

But, putting such a detail aside, I think we may fairly conjecture, 
from this particular description of the beauties of the Daughter of 
Zion, that our author had most distinctly a refined taste as to what 
constitutes one special charm of the female figure. He would have, 
I think, agreed with Mart. xi. 100, and said pinguiarius non sum ; 


decenter erectam dextra praeferebat, laeva binas tabulas denis 
legibus inscriptas. Bis sex radii coronabant frontem, et capillorum 
longe diffluentium seriem auri concoloris vinculo coercebant. Faciem 
vero ipsam omnem ornatum superare, ex eo satis apparebat, quod haec 
omnium oculorum aciem in se unam, quasi meta contraheret. 

Ut cum in magno hominum conventu dulcissima melodia auditum 
subit, singuli simul aures arrigunt, advertuntqne intimique sensus 
penetrari, ac ipsa praecordia tangi pariter et commoveri videntur : 
neque absimilem quandam voluptatem anima per oculos concepit 
ex inenormi compagine formosi vultus, quam quae ab harmonico 
numerorum concentu in ipsam per aures illabi, et mirabili consensione 
naturae ad suos modules circumducere solet. 

Mille millies in ilia enitebant gratiae : Quas, qui viderit, illico 
agnoverit ; verbis nemo unquam satis expresserit : et jam seu pudore 
publici aspectus, sive plus solito agitato sanguine, instar Phoebi 
primulum orientis, juvenili rubore perfusa est. 

Praeterea novitas pretiosi habitus, pompaeque ex improvise oblatae 
solennitas, magis magisque rapiebant in immensam admirationem 
venerandae virginis : turn accidit aliud, neque id exiguum momentum, 
quod labantes animos et plus satis primo conspectu perculsos ad 

and yet, from the way he dwells on the chaste revealing zona of the 
Daughter of Zion, we feel sure he would not have admired the flat, 
masculine chest of some of the " shrieking sisterhood " and the 
"bachelor women." His choice would have been what Petronius 
calls a figure, omnibus simulacris emendatior. If my theory be true, 
our author married a girl only just seventeen (Mary Powell) for his 
first wife, and we may charitably assume that he found in her the 
descriptive diminutives mentioned (from Forcellini), above diminutives, 
too, that he liked in more ways than one, as I have shown elsewhere. 
Three times in all did he marry, and not one of his brides was a 
widow : he expressly preferred a virgin, as he himself has told us. 
The opulent charms of a middle-aged widow apparently did not 
appeal to that great genius Plato-Pythagoras-Joseph-Apelles-Milton, 
who has described so naturally and chastely the more refined charms 
both of the Daughter of Zion and of her who was " Daughter of God 
and Man, immortal Eve '' (Paradise Lost, ix. 291). 

Having brought up Q. Serenus from his long rest, he shall not 
depart d<rvp.f3o\os. The following is his remarkable recipe for an 
elegant and virginal bust. It is modestly veiled in the language 
of scholars, and so I commit it to those " sweet girl graduates " who 
are privileged, by their culture, to raise the veil of antiquity, if not 
of Isis. 

Si castigatas studium est praestare papillas 
Ex hedera sertis ambas redimire memento 
Protinus, et raptas fumis mandare coronas. 

(Q. Serenus Samm., xxi. o.) 


altiorem insaniam praecipites egit : nimirum dum propius adventaret, 
ab equis altius eminentes obiter conspicata, et excita insperato 
spectaculo, mirari primum, ac trepidare, deinde micare oculis, gestire 
secum, et tota propemodum exilire videbatur ; nee cum abiret, 
continere se potuit, quin et cervice paululum inflexa blandissimo 
luminum rejectu ipsos subsistentes referiret. Britannic! juvenes, 
quaenam esset hae tanta et tarn subita propensio, baud satis certi, 
nee quid sibi vellent adhuc conscii, pudore, spe, metuque et gaudio 
turbidi, totis praecordiis intremiscebant simul et exultabant. 

Deinde aversam avectamque e medio, oculis longissime insequuntur, 
tanquam in conspectu revocarent. Cum ilia omnis reliqua scena, 
et satellitum turma vanescere visa est, ipsius imago sic animum 
impleverat, ut nihil praeterea spectare possent, aut suis oculis dignum 

Postea dum turba dilaberetur, ab altero, qui dux itineris erat, 
sciscitantur, quorsum, aut quid hoc esset ostenti. Ille breviter 
respondebat, esse urbis conditae annuam celebrationem, virginemque 
illam pro Sione, sive (ut ipsi loquuntur) Sionis filia representam. 
Inter haec verba decedente populo, in viam a dextra abeuntem equum 
fraeno inclinaverat: eosque veluti jucundissimo somnio, seu potius 
coelestium rerum visione delapsos in proximum vicum deduxit. 1 

1 I have suggested, in the notes to my English translation, that the 
author was thinking of the May-day Festivities and the May Queen 
he had seen near London when younger. I add here that, according 
to a scarce poem entitled May-Day (London, 1769), the May Queen 
was elected on the village green, and shortly afterwards, accompanied 
by " tabors and pipes " and a joyous crowd, she was escorted to the 
prepared "throne" or arbour: 

Now on they march in order due, 

A Nymph and Swain, all two and two, 

With flowery garlands drest ; 
While daisies spring along the plain, 
Each Nymph alternate views her Swain, 

And seems completely blest. 

Now they draw near the erected bower, 
Adorned with many a shrub and flower, 

A throne of turf within : 
Sweet sing the birds aloft in air, 
Or to the bower hover near ; 

And now they enter in. 

When seated on the throne a " sage old Swain " presents her with 
a crown of flowers and a moral address. She is then greeted with 
shouts of applause, and 

Again the pipe and tabor sound, 
The fair returns with honour crowned ; 
Thus ends the happy scene. 

(May-Day, pp. 3-7.) 

VOL. II. 20 



(Vol. I., pp. 168, 169.) 

EGO quidem, cum coeli, solique immensum orbem (qui est omnium 
figurarum capacissimus) undique circumspicio ; nullumque in eo 
angulum suis opibus non refertum ; neque omnium earum rerum 
ullam inutilem, aut supervacuam reperio ; cum terrarum immane 
pondus ilia ipsa gravitate se mutud sustinentium, et vastissimas 
saxorum moles, columuarum instar, suffulcientium ; ac metallorum 
venas, tanquam in thesauris suis clanculum reconditas : dum solum 
intueor herbarum gratissime virentium integumento constratum, et 
irrequietum mare intra suos fines, nescio quo fraeno, quibusve re- 
pagulis, undiquaque l conclusum ; nee non statos et reciprocos aestus 
ad omnia littora se allidentes ; recentiumque lympharum fontes, veluti 
tot aquaeductus, per domum terrarum circumfusos : turn aerem 
tenuissimum ac pene inanem densiora quaeque ultro admittentem, 
et in relicta elementorum spatia ubique sedulo succedentem : ac 
ventorum variam alternationem ab omni littore impellentem : ignem 
quoque velut improbum praedonem, silice, et solidis. Corporibus, seu 
carcere constrictum ; aut in extimam regionem relegatam ; 2 ipsamque 
aetheriam plagam, syderumque motum, ac materiam non deficientem, 
et innoxiam benignitatem flammarum coelestium ; 3 litesque et inimi- 
citias elementorum mutuis foederibus conciliatas : atque uuiversum 

1 Used several times in Nova Solyma, although the great Latin 
dictionaries of the present day do not include or acknowledge this 
adverb. But the Cambridge Latin-English Dictionary, 1693, which 
absorbed Milton's MS. collection, has "undiquaque, adv. Liv. every- 
where, on every side," probably taking some corrupt reading. 

* Possibly the flammantia maenia mundi of Lucretius. But our 
author may be thinking of the Empyrean, or the fiery gulf of 

3 Milton was a strong believer in the benign influence of the stars. 
When not yet twenty-one, he sang : 

The stars with deep amaze 
Stand fixt in steadfast gaze, 
Bending one way their precious influence. 

(Hymn on Nativity, 71.) 

And later on, old and blind, he still sang : 

The Pleiades before him danced 
Shedding sweet influence. 

(Paradise Lost, vii. 375). 

And again, of Eve : 

I led her blushing like the Morn : all Heaven, 
And happy constellations on that hour 
Shed their selectest influence. 


animantium genus in tot tribus familiasque discretum, suisque certis 
ditionibus segregatum : dum haec inquam omnia studiose contemplor 
me tot miraculis circumsessum sentio, et humana artificia ut manea 
et mutila, ipsasque artes ut incites fastidio. 1 Orbis utique qui 
mensura, pondere et ordine constat, omnium artium exemplaria 
atque fastigia in se continet. 

Here I must end my extracts from the original ; but 
to such scholars as may get the opportunity of consulting 
this great rarity, I would especially commend to their 
perusal, (i) the fable of Philomela's kingdom (lib. L, 
pp. 24-40) ; (2) the story of Antonia's guilty love (lib. iv., 
pp. 213-222), which is the only part of the whole book 
which Dr. Garnett told me was not quite what he should 
have expected from Milton, yet it will, I think, be found 
to be a chastely told story, and classically expressed ; 

(3) Joseph's emergence from the dark night of his soul 
and from his religious despair (lib. vi., pp. 372-4) ; and 

(4) the description of the annual pageant (lib. vi., pp. 
378 ad fineni}. 

1 Artes inertes. Milton was very fond of these jingles and this 
play upon words. We find them both in his Latin and English 
writings. The English examples (Paradise Lostv. 889, iv. 181, ix. 648, 
xii. 78, etc.) are referred to in the translation of this passage (note) ; as 
for the Latin, there are several even in such a serious production as 
Milton's De Doctrina Christiana : e.g. in chap. ii. of that book, when 
arguing against those who pretend that Nature or Fate is the supreme 
Power, he says : " Sed natura natam se fatetur . . . et fatum quod nisi 
effatum divinum omnipotentis cujuspiam numinis potest esse." And 
farther on, in chap, x., with regard to the argument about adultery 
drawn often from Matt. v. 32, he says : pro adulterino sit protinus 
refiudiandum ; his joke amounting in English to this, that, when 
discussing adultery, illegitimate arguments should be excluded. This 
same uncommon word adulterinus is used twice in Nova Solynta. 



MlLTON, as is well known, was a great admirer and 
imitator of Virgil. It would not be too much to say 
that he was " saturated " with the great Augustan poet ; 
one has but to look through a few pages of the variorum 
notes to Paradise Lost to acknowledge the truth of this. 
Virgil's methods of versification especially commended 
themselves to Milton, and we see him constantly imitating 
and very often surpassing his master on his own ground. 

My point in this connection is, that of the anonymous 
author of Nova Solyma the very same remarks could be 
justly made. This naturally helps to favour my contention. 

Now, the principal excellencies of Virgil's versification 
were : (i) The continual varying of the pause ; (2) the 
adapting of the sound to the sense ; (3) strengthening 
and beautifying the verse by the connecting particles que 
and et ; (4) rhyming syllabic assonance and alliteration 
Let us take these in order. 

(i) The continual varying of the pause. Milton, as an 
English epic poet, stands far ahead of all others in his 
clever use of this beautiful artifice, which he owed to 
Virgil more than to any other poet. The author of 
Nova Solyma dwells also very particularly on this 
device, and exemplifies it often in the Armada epic and 
elsewhere. There are also most pertinent remarks on 
its use in the college tutor's lecture on poetry to the 
English lads in Nova Solyma, Book III. Statius, Lucan, 
Claudian, and Silius Italicus all neglected this poetical 
ornament, and their verses suffered for it. The same with 
most English epics : one need only compare the beginnings 



of Cowley's Davideis and Milton's Paradise Lost, to see the 
immense difference between monotonous metrical same- 
ness and the pleasing variety in which our greatest epic 
poet abounds. 

(2) The adapting of the sound of tJie verse to tJie sense. 
All scholars from their schoolboy days know the great 
Virgilian example, the horse galloping on the hard road : 

Quadrupedante putrem sonitu quatit ungula campum ; 

but there are several others e.g. the cunctativeness of 
Fabius : 

Unus homo nobis cunctando restituit rem ; 
the gently flowing rivers : 

Unde pater Tiberinus et unde Aniena fluenta ; 
the roaring streams : 

Saxosumque sonans Hypanis, Mysiusque Caicus. 

The s and / effect makes the following line as liquid as 
water : 

Speluncisque lacus clauses lucosque sonantes. 

Some lines rise towards the end, but this next goes 
down to the deepest valleys : 

Saxa per et scopulos, et depressas convalles ; 
the sound of a trumpet : 

At tuba terribili sonitu procul acre canoro; 
the quick flight of time : 

Sed fugit interea, fugit irreparabile tempus ; 

Stat sua cuique dies breve, et irreparabile tempus ; 

the slow, steady strokes of the forgemen : 

Illi inter sese multa vi brachia tollunt ; 
terror and wonder expressed by harsh, slow spondees : 

Monstrum horrendum informe ingens cui lumen ademptum 
Monstrum horrendum ingens cui quot sunt corpore plumae 
Horrendum et dictu video mirabile monstrum ; 

310 PARALLELS [Exc. K 

the sudden fall of the felled ox : 

Sternitur exanimisque tremens procumbit humi bos ; 
the fury of the storm : 

Una Eurusque Notuspue ruunt, creberque procellis. 

Now, Milton was one of the few modern Latin poets 
who tried to vie with Virgil in this difficult art of 
onomatopoeia in verse. He even attempted to beat Virgil's 
best the galloping horse. Milton's attempt was : 

Cornea pulvereum dum verberat ungula campum. 

(Elegy, iv. 119.) 

Some think that Milton's " um-dum " in the middle of 
his verse is good enough for him to win " on the post " ; 
but I think not, for Virgil gained too much at the start, 
and Milton had nothing new in reserve to forge ahead 
with near the finish. However, Milton tried another 
it was to represent the chattering or gnashing of teeth : 

Stridet adamantinus ordo 
Dentis ut armorum fragor, ictaque cuspide cuspts 

(In Quintum Novembris, 39) ; 

also that warlike-sounding line so praised by Landor : 

Frangam Saxonicas Britonum sub Marte phalanges 

(Mansus, 84) ; 

and the flight of time : 

In se perpetuo Tempus revolubile gyro. 

(Elegy, v. i.) 

Here is rhythmical assonance as well. This fifth elegy 
on Spring has been thought to surpass in facility of 
versification one by Buchanan on this same subject entitled 
Maiae Calendae. Milton was only twenty when he wrote 
it, and the striking examples that are next to follow 
out of our newly discovered Romance would be written 
probably at about the same age, or even earlier. Milton 
did not write any Latin verse after he was just over 
thirty years old, except the curious ode to Rous in 
1646 ; and since, in his later days, he had arrived at the 


conclusion that rhyme or jingling metre put the bonds of 
slavery on a poet's natural freedom of expression, I do 
not suppose we should have had much rhythmical asso- 
nance in his later Latin odes, if in his blind days he 
had given any to the world. But though he abandoned 
rhyme in Paradise Lost, he did not altogether forsake the 
onomatopoeia of his early Latin muse ; for instance : 

Brushed with the hiss of rustling wings. As bees 
In spring-time when the sun with Taurus rides. 

(Paradise Lost, i. 768.) 

This is good, for we can hear the sound as we read the 
words. Then, again, a difficult, long, and tedious march 
is well expressed in the following line, which takes some 
time and labour to pronounce : 

Thus roving on, 

O'er many a frozen, many a fiery Alp ; 
Rocks, caves, lakes, fens, bogs, dens, and shades of death. 

(ii. 621.) 

There are other instances of sound-echoing sense in 
Paradise Lost\ for instance, in that famous passage 
describing the coming on of night in Book IV.: 

Now came still Evening on, and twilight grey 
Had in her sober livery all things clad ; 
Silence accompanied ; for beast and bird, 
They to their grassy couch, these to their nests, 
Were slunk, all but the wakeful nightingale ; 
She all night long her amorous descant sung. 

How exquisite the indication of the pauseless con- 
tinuity of the nightingale's song by the transition from 
short sentences cut up by commas and semicolons, to the 
" linked sweetness long drawn out " of 

She all night long her amorous descant sung. 

The whole poem, as Dr. Garnett says, is full of similar 
felicities (Life of Milton, p. 168). 

But now I come to some excellent attempts in Nova 
Solyma, and seeing that these peculiar lines are rather 

312 PARALLELS [Exc. K 

difficult to make with good effect, and that modern Latin 
poets have seldom tried to do this, with the notable 
exception of Milton, who made two or three good ones, 
I think I may justly claim some help for my main con- 
tention from such collateral evidence as I have here 
gathered. It may be added that C. G. Heyne, the well- 
known Virgilian critic, and many others, held the opinion 
that it was beneath the dignity and genius of a great poet 
to labour over his verses just to express the sound of a 
trumpet or the galloping of a horse, but both Milton and 
Joseph-Apelles-Milton thought otherwise. 

The best tour de force of our Apelles is in his fine Hymn 
on the Christian Sabbath, where he describes the church 
bells as they summon the people to the House of God : 

Aera sonant, pulsuque vocant, tremefacta canoro 
Ad Dominique Deique. 1 

(Nova Sofyma, p. 347.) 

Another fine one is the expression of sleep stealing on 
the tired eyes : 

Et sopore blanda sero somniemus somnia. 

(Nova Solyma, p. 386.) 

Then Virgil's famous monstrum horrendum line is twice 
adapted, first to an anvil (Nova Solyma, p. 154): 

Ferrum immane rubens, formandum incude gementi ; 
then to the " awful Shape of Terror " (Nova Solyma, p. 158): 

Corpus inane volans, cinctum omnibus undique monstris. 
Twice also, at pp. 155 and 266, we have the melodious 

1 I think these lines would have been much to the taste of that 
genial and multi-lingual scholar-priest who sang of 

The bells of Shandon, 
That sound so grand on 
The pleasant waters 
Of the river Lee. 

Father Proufs Reliques will always be the delight of the scholar. 
They are full of musical assonance, classical, mediaeval, and modern. 


expression of the Seraphim and Cherubim who " con- 
tinually do cry " : 

Laetaque perpetuo tollit praeconia cantu ; 
tuneful lyres and rattling kettledrums : 

Concordes citharae, pulsataque tympana tollunt 

(Nova Solyma, p. 374) ; 

while the sudden fall of Virgil's ox is imitated in the 
sudden pause in the angel's speech in Nova Solyvia, 
p. 154: 

Haec breviter; nee plura loqui matura sinit res; 

and, as I have elsewhere noticed, we have the Armada 
tossed on the rolling waves in this heaving line : 

Perque Caledonium pelagus, fluctusque Batavos. 

The rules of metre were also sometimes broken by 
Virgil to give the sound or the idea of a rough, rugged, 
or unwieldly object, e.g. : 

Inseritur vero ex foetu nucis arbutus horrida 

(Georg. ii. 69), 

the grafting of a filbert on a crab-stock. Again : 

Amphion Dircaeus in Actaeo Aracyntho 

(Eclog. ii. 24), 

which is rough and irregular by neglecting the elision. 
It took young Milton's fancy, however, and when in his 
Gunpowder Plot poem he tries to describe the unmusical 
chanting of the monks at Rome on the eve of St. Peter's 
Day, we have this simile, a not very complimentary 
one : 

Qualiter exululat Bromius, Bromiique catervae 

Orgia cantantes in Echionio Aracyntho. 

(In Quintum Novembris, 65.) 

And thus similarly in Nova Solyma, p. 157 (the unwieldy 
ships of the Armada) : 

Et trabibus densis latera ardua circumtectae 
a spondaic hexameter. 


[Exc. K 

A s to device (3), the artful iise of que and et, Virgil learnt 
it from Homer, who frequently used it with great effect. 
Examples abound passim ; here is one : 

Si vero viciamque seres, vilemque Faselum 

(Georg. i. 227) ; 

then our old friend : 

Fortemque Gyan, fortemque Cloanthem, 

which was a pet phrase with the poet, and had rhythmical 
assonance as well. 

These conjunctions are to the verse like nerves and 
sinews to the body so says Nicolas Erythraeus (c. 1580), 
who was one of the first to draw attention to these 
different Virgilian tricks of composition, which many 
grammaticasters, and good critics too, now and then had 
declared to be blemishes, especially any rhyming assonance 
in dealing with a lofty theme. It is clear enough that 
young Milton agreed with Erythraeus, and not with the 
pedants, and the same Miltonic views are evident enough 
throughout Nova Solyma, 

Now take the fourth Virgilian device, which many still 
consider a blemish viz. alliteration and rhyming assonance ; 

Totaque thuriferis Panchaia pinguis arenis, 

and hundreds of others. 

Alliteration occurs everywhere in Milton, early or late ; 
open at any page, you will notice it the very first line 
of his great epic : 

Of man's first disobedience, and the fruit; 
juvenile poems as well (when he was seventeen) : 

O fairest flower, no sooner blown but blasted, 
Soft silken primrose, fading timelessly. 

(Death of a Fair Infant.) 

Most musical, most melancholy. 

(// Penseroso.) 

This Virgilian device is frequent too in Milton's early 
Latin poems, and in Nova Solyma. 


But it is the rhythmical assonance which adds the most 
to the argument. Milton in his earlier poems delighted 
in this poetical adornment, and his fine ear enabled him 
to use it most skilfully in Lycidas, Comus, and elsewhere, 
as all the world knows ; but after a time he virtually 
abandoned his early delight, and gave his reason, " rime 
being no necessary adjunct or true ornament of poem 
or good verse," as a kind of preface to Paradise Lost. 
When young, too, we know that Milton was very fond of 
trying his hand at new metrical essays the Ode on the 
Nativity was a wonderfully successful example of novel 
rhythmical assonance produced by a mere lad. Now, it 
is just such wonderful and novel attempts at rhythmical 
assonance that we find in the Latin lyric poems of Nova 
Solyma some of them are, as far as I know, unparalleled 
in all the wide domain of modern Latin verse, or, for that 
matter, any Latin verse, modern or ancient, the reason for 
the truth of this very broad assertion being that in Nova 
Solyma, as in Milton, the metres are original, the product 
of the author's fine ear and musical imagination. Some of 
the Latin lyrics of our Romance are so full of this rhythmical 
assonance that we almost think that they are about to fall 
into a monkish jingle, or at least into some of the assonant 
hymns of the mediaeval Church ; but this never happens 
the lyrics of Nova Solyma remain classical in form and 
substance throughout, that remarkable one beginning 

Come, thou blest one, stay no longer, rise and leave thy husband's 

which is in the metre and jingle of the pervigilium 
veneris, being perhaps the least classical, though not the 
least beautiful, of them all. But nothing can explain this 
peculiar and original assonance better than an example 
or two. 

Take the first verse of O sacred top of Solyma : 

O sacrum Solymae jugum ! 
Urbs O nobilium regia civium I 
Te felix pietas, et bona coelitum 

Cantu gaudia recreant perenni ; 

316 PARALLELS [Exc. K 

or first verse of O young-eyed cJioir of angels blest : 

O pubes superum beata divum ! 
Quos numquam maculat scelesta labes, 
Nee coeli patrio lumine dejicit, 
Aut sacris animos dotibus exuit ; 
Vos o sydereum genus ! 
Laetis pergite cantibus 
Summo plaudere regi. 

Note here the novel conjunction of various classical 
metres, and also the careful indentation of the printed 
lines. Milton was most careful of this, as we see in 
his Trinity College MSS. 

But consider most of all "The Song of the Village 
Maidens at the Door of the Bride's Chamber," one of 
several lyrical interludes in The Divine Pastoral Drama 
that ends our Romance. It is given in full in the Latin 
Appendix, beginning : 

O beata surge tandem, linque lectum conjugis. 

The original faulty punctuation has been kept. Milton 
also was bad in punctuation. But putting aside such 
a trifle as that, do we not seem to have here an original 
and most musical lyric in Latin, a foretaste of the fine 
ear for metrical harmony which afterwards helped to 
enrich our language with such varied lyrical charm in 
Lycidas, and the song to Sabrina in Comus ? 

Since writing the Excursus I have met with a very 
high and, I think, just encomium of Milton's verse which 
has just been published (1901). As it is equally true 
for the Latin hexameters and lyrics of Nova Solynta, it 
shall find a place here. The writer is speaking of 
translations of Virgil into English hexameters, and the 
difficulty of reproducing in this way the original peculiar 
charm of Virgil. " There are certain magical effects, 
particularly in the Virgilian hexameter (Latin), produced 
by an exquisite but audacious tact in the employment 
of licence, which can never be reproduced in English. 
Milton, and Milton alone among Englishmen, had the secret 


of this music, but he elicited it from another instrument " 
(J. Churton Collins, Ephemera Critica, p. 317). 

If my contention be correct, I have the right to add 
that Milton elicited these varied charms from the same 
instrument as well, and that even when quite a youthful 
bard his os magnet sonaturum had already learned to 
blow blasts as long and thrilling on the Latin trumpet 
as did the past-master Virgil himself. I may add this 
also : that when the youthful Milton tried the same tune, 
he generally added an obligato of his own, which quite 
out-quavered the Mantuan's best. 

A recent German critic, Dr. Joseph Rcber, whose 
official title, to put it briefly, is Kgl. Director der hoh, zveibl. 
Bildungs-anstalt, says, in his excellent annotated German 
edition of Milton's Tractate on Education (1644), that 
Milton's youthful Latin verses were " nicht in damaliger 
schablonenmanierr Now, this remark is still more pointedly 
true of the lyrics and heroics of Nova Solyma, and is 
a characteristic which clearly marks them off from the 
thousands of the common or garden type. 

If we compare the Latin poems of Nova Solyma with 
the Latin verse of the most renowned authors of the 
early and later Renaissance, we shall find that in some 
points they are vastly superior to the very best productions 
of men so famous in their age as Sannazar, Bembo, and 
Vida. But these men, by general consent, stood on the 
highest summit of the modern Parnassus of their age. 
How, then, can these quite unnoticed poems claim any 
superiority to allowed masterpieces of cultivated Latinity. 
The reason is that these much-belauded poets never 
succeeded in shaking themselves free from the pedantic 
fripperies and banalities of the gradus, the lexicon, and 
the pagan mythology. They are always dragging them 
in ; they are always adorning their tale and dressing up 
its episodes and incidents with what was practically worn- 
out finery ; and, what was worse, the finery was a sham 
adornment that was only taken seriously by a kind of 
literary convention. 

I quite agree with Professor Saintsbury's happy remark 


that for Vida, Bembo, and their school, " a literary 
Monmouth Street is the highway to Parnassus, and no- 
body can be admitted to the Muses' Court without a 
court dress of old clothes." And, again, their phraseology 
and their elegances are " the very embodiment of the 
gradus : one seems to move in a sort of snowstorm of 
minute Vergilian, Ovidian, and other tags, sleeting, like 
the Lucretian atoms, through a void." 1 

Now, although Milton may have yielded in some of 
his early Latin poems (the Elegies, for instance especially) 
to the cultivated craving for such things then in vogue, 
still, when on a purely Christian theme he would have 
none of it, and the same determination is seen and 
declared in Nova Solyma. If ever Milton has taken the 
" old clothes " of Virgil or any other old-world exquisite, 
he so adapts or improves them that on him they seem 
" as good as new." 

This, too, is the case, as we know, again and again in 
Nova Solyma^ and it is the case with all great authors 
and their famous books. They are borrowed (often 
perhaps unconsciously) from their predecessors or con- 
temporaries, but so altered by the natural genius of the 
borrower that in the process they are, so to say, transmuted, 
and, in the judgment of their readers, are accounted as 
original ore. This is the wondrous alchemy of literature, 
and in Milton we have an acknowledged master of the 
craft. Also, if I am not altogether wrong, we have in 
our Armada epic an early exposition of the same. 

Vida, in his Poetics^ seems to have been one of the 
first teachers and defenders of the " sound-echo-to-sense " 
principle. It was in his time that literary criticism began 
to assert its influence, the dialogues of Lilius Gregorius 
Giraldus, De Poetis Nostrorum Temporum being one of the 
first attempts in this direction, and for some long time 
the most comprehensive, for he included poets of other 
nationalities than his own e.g. Chaucer has a place and 
mention in his work. 

1 The Early Renaissance (Blackwood, 1901), pp. 32 and 26. 



WE have here to consider whether the Latin prose style 
of Nova Solyma is consistent with the Latin phraseology 
and mannerism of the youthful period of Milton's literary 
life, as made known to us in his college exercises and other 
Latin writings of that period. This is an important, and 
indeed a crucial, question, for when we are considering any 
anonymous work and its supposed author, if the literary 
style of the two, when compared, is found utterly dissimilar, 
in that case we can only say, Cadit quaestio this ends the 
matter ; there is no use in addressing our enquiries any 
farther in that direction ; the styles are different, and so 
are the two men, for " the style is the man." And this 
touchstone of authorship is generally real and effective, 
except in the rarer cases when the book is written with the 
set purpose of hoodwinking and misleading its readers 
from cover to cover. But here we may omit this excep- 
tional consideration altogether, for Nova Solyma^ anonymous 
though it be, is no example of literary imposture or 
supercherie. Its tone is genuine and consistent throughout, 
and is undoubtedly Miltonic ; its opinions are outspoken 
and remarkably independent, and again they are peculiarly 
such as we may justly attribute to Milton ; its auto- 
biographical incidents, though neatly covered up by the 
veil of fancy and rhetoric, are also more applicable to 
Milton than to any one else known to literature. However, 
after all this is said, it is nothing compared to the question 
of literary style at least, so some great critics think, for 
they say that many men may have the same opinions and 
the same tone of mind or character, and lead the same, 



kind of life, but that each man has his own way of express- 
ing these matters in literary form, and that it is in that 
way, above all, that an author unveils his own personality, 
if he be not wittingly trying to deceive. There is no 
doubt much force in this, though it should not be too far 
pressed. Let us see, then, what was the style of Milton's 
Latin prose in his undoubtedly genuine youthful pro- 
ductions, and compare it with Nova Solyma as we 

First, then, the predominant characteristic of young 
Milton in his early college exercises is his extraordinary 
liking for diminutives, often too for novel and eccentric 
ones, which he will hunt out of some old author, classical, 
or even post-classical, or else invent them himself. The 
best example of this is the very first college exercise 
of his, as printed in order in his collected works (ed. 
1698, 3 vols., fol.). The title is Utrum Dies an Nox 
praestantior sit ? Although consisting of only a few lines 
beyond four pages of the above edition (iii. 339-43), 
it contains no less than seventeen diminutives, such as 
sententiuncula, vocula, nutricula, venustulus, rimula, nidulus, 
cape/la, lachrymula, stellula, lapillus, etc. And, what is 
more, these all seem introduced of set purpose, and some 
even invented by Milton, when the ordinary, simple, radical 
word would have done just as well. Many of Milton's 
diminutives occur only once in some old or out-of-the-way 
author, or are of late origin. If Milton could only get 
hold of a aira.% \eyo/j,evov of the diminutive kind, he seems 
to grapple it to his literary work with hooks of steel. Nor 
does he care much for its literary provenance. Plautus, Aulus 
Gellius, Priscian, St. Jerome, are each alike to him; he 
collects from all impartially. 

There is not quite such a remarkably high percentage 
in the other college theses of these odd Latin words, which 
so remind us of the liquid prettiness of their modern Italian 
imitations, but still they abound, and we find arguteola 
(Gellius), semihorula (invented), quaestiuncula, venustulus 
(a second time), captiuncula, stellula (again), minutula, 
elegantula, mundula, Catunculi (invented), lepidulus, anicula, 


conduncula (Letter to Gil, 1628), igniculus, breviculus, 
politula^ conviviolum, and cJiordula. I feel almost certain 
that such a large and singular collection as the above can 
be found in no Neo-Latin writer, even if his works ran 
to twenty folio volumes, instead of the twenty pages or 
thereabouts of these youthful productions of a Cambridge 
student. Here, then, surely, is something marking off 
the youthful Milton from his literary competitors and 
contemporaries. He " dwells apart " with the diminutives 
that he so dearly loves. 

But we must not delay our examination of the prose 
of Nova Solyma in regard to this early fancy of Milton. 
What do we find there ? Something, I venture to think, 
that will astonish the sceptic who is inclined to scout 
the idea of a Miltonic magnum opus brought to light 
after being in print for 250 years. From a cursory 
glance through the first fifty pages only of Nova 
Solyma, I find the following numerous and startling 
diminutives : Quaestiuncula (p. 13) ; praefatiuncula (p. 21) ; 
alumnuli (p. 24) ; stellula (p. 2) ; cantiuncula (pp. 26 
and 42) ; fulminacula (p. 45) ; tyrunculus (p. 46) ; 
funiculum (p. 47) ; flosculum (p. 27) ; parvulum (p. 20). 
Here are eleven diminutives, some of them unique, and 
two (if not more), quaestiuncula and stellula, used by 
Milton in his college days. Again I say, no Latin book 
of that period could yield such a remarkable result in 
its first fifty, or, for the matter of that, first five hundred, 

Farther on in Nova Solyma there are more, but I was 
quite content with my first sheaf, and only casually 
noticed these others : audaculus (p. 147, and in the 
Autocriticori) ; avicula($. 72); columella (p. 122); radiolus 
(p. 376) ; liguncula (p. 279). The last, the " paddle " 
of Deut. xxiii. 13, which the children of Israel had to use 
in camp for sanitary purposes, more felino, is noticeable 
as being apparently invented by the author purposely, 

1 Ruhnken (Epist. ad Dorvilf) calls the fashionable French abb6s 
politulos Gallulos ; and Muretus uses a few diminutives now and then, 
but it is the exception rather than the rule. 

VOL. II. 2 1 



[Exc L 

the Vulgate word, paxillum, being pushed aside this 
is Milton all over. Then we have misellus (twice), capillus 
(twice), and the little twinkling lines : 

Nee blandulos notate 
Ocellulos ocellis, 

where we get our author's favourite device doubly distilled. 
All these last are in the Anacreontic at p. 269, and therefore 
not so naturally Miltonic as the prose examples, for the 
Neo-Latin revivals of Anacreon Latinus were very fond 
of such conceits e.g. Paulus Melissus and his German 
admirers ; and even the great Buchanan in his hendeca- 
syllabics to Neaera did not hesitate to begin thus : 

Cum primum mihi candidae Neaerae 
Illos sideribus pares ocellos 
Ostendistis ocelluli miselli 
Ilia principium fuit malorum ; 
Ilia lux animi ruina nostri. 1 

But the only dictionary authority for this double 
diminutive ocelluli is an old grammarian named Diomedes, 
who lived a little before Priscian ; and if the author of 
Nova Solyma did not invent the word, he probably 
borrowed it from Buchanan, of whom Milton was a great 
admirer, and whom he most likely aimed at when he 
wrote : 

Were it not better done, as others use, 
To sport with Amaryllis in the shade, 
Or with the tangles of Neaera's hair ? 

But whether borrowed or coined (and Milton could do 
both), these diminutives in our Romance certainly help my 
contention very considerably. They have always been 
more common in verse than in prose, and, with the 
exception of Catullus, the great poets of Rome did not 
favour them Ovid, Propertius, and Tibullus avoided them 
altogether, and Virgil has (so says Landor) but one, oscula 

1 Cf. Milton, Elegy, vii., where he says of the May Queen : 

Principium nostri lux erat ilia mali 
a reminiscence of Buchanan surely 1 


tibavit natae. Plautus used them pretty freely ; but they 
died a natural death, perhaps from ridicule, in the classical 
ages, and did not revive until the Renaissance, when they 
began to be heard first in Italy. Landor is very virulent 
against them. " In Politian and such people," he says, 
" they buzz about our ears insufferably, and we would waft 
every one of them away with little heed or concern, if we 
brush off together with them all the squashy insipidities 
they alight on" (Works, vii. 381). 

Milton being an excellent Italian scholar would partly 
account for his love of those musically sounding words in 
which that beautiful language abounds ; and he also 
admired the Comus of Erycius Puteanus, an author who 
had studied some years in Italy, and wrote a Latin 
Anacreontic full of such lines as these : 

Hie lucta basiorum, 
Et morsiuncularum, 
Jam puberis puelli 
Jam nubilis puellae. 

This was strong meat for " the Lady of Christ's," but he 
admired the lyrical form while rejecting the salacious 
substance. And in Nova Solyma, Book V., p. 269, we 
have a very fine and chaste Anacreontic, inspired as to 
form, most likely, by the Comus aforementioned, and 
containing seven diminutives in a short poem of only 
thirty-two lines. 

Besides diminutives, Milton was, in his college days, 
fond of unusual words, with which he had no doubt 
stocked his brain by his wide reading, and which he 
carefully kept ready in his memory or notebook for pro- 
duction when suitable. He was a great word-hunter, and 
his collections for a new Latin Dictionary were being 
carried on all his life long. He would bring into his 
Latin themes unusual words picked up in the course of his 
reading whether strictly classical or not it did not matter 
to him, so long as he thought them effective. Milton was 
no Ciceronian purist, like Bembo and his satellites. When 
he was in need of a strong word, he would use the first or 



[Exc. L 

best that was suggested by his retentive memory, and if 
none came ,to the purpose, he would invent one. He was 
a great master, both of borrowed and original invective, as 
Salmasius found to his cost, and was as good at Latin 
Billingsgate as poor Professor E. Palmer was at Arabic 
swear-words. But Nova Solyma was no place for that, 
and it was reserved for later years and his various 
Defensiones. But many singular and out-of-the-way words 
occur both in Milton's early Latin and in Nova Solyma, 
and sometimes the same unusual word occurs in both, 
which is a good point for my hypothesis. Let us take one 
or two of these first. 

Words compounded with the preposition per occur 
frequently in Nova Solyma e.g. perimplet occurs several 
times, and there is pervelle, perterrefecit,. perplacere (p. 
21), etc. 

Now, the youthful Milton has persane (by no means a 
usual word) twice in his letters and once in a college 
exercise, pervelle (in Elegy > v. \y)\permoveri (first college 
exercise), and perplacida (in his Commonplace Book}. 
This last is a curious case. The word was half crossed 
out in the original MS., as if he doubted it, but eventually 
it was fully written, although an inappropriate word, for 
Milton intended it to mean " very pleasing " in an active 
sense, but this does not hold good. 

Another example is statuminabant (Nova Solyma, p. 2), 
an uncommon word which the youthful Milton uses in a 
college exercise, and when much older uses again for 
his version of Psalm cxlvii. 6 : statuminat mansuetos 
Jehova, where the Vulgate has suscipiens. (De Doctrina 
Christiana, c. xii.). Again, we have stellula (Nova Solyma, 
p, 2), and the same word twice in Milton's early Latin prose 
(pp. 342 and 347, ed. 1698). This, moreover, is a word 
of no classical authority, being first found in St. Jerome 
(Epist., 112), and then only in the sense of an asterisk. It 
is also an improperly formed double diminutive, for Stella 
itself is a diminutive, being equal to sterula, diminutive of 
aa-Trfp, just 3.spuella is for puerula so, at least, etymologists 
tell us ; but neither Milton nor the author of Nova Solyma 


cared much for them, or yet for the Grammaticastri, which 
word, supposed to hark back only as far as Scaliger, also 
appears both in Nova Solyma (p. 133) and Milton (Op. 
Lat., iii. 357) ; and Milton has Philosophastri twice (Op. 
Lat., iii. 346, 349), very likely a word of his own. Then 
there is the word oblongus, curiously used twice in Nova 
Solyma as qualifying a short sword and also the proboscis 
of an elephant (Nova Solyma, p. 241), while it is used also 
in the Responsio Angli, by John Philips (i.e. most likely 
Milton), in the odd connection oblonga Lupi cauda (Milton, 
Op. Lat., iii. 148, ed. 1698). 

Quin, too, is used often in Nova Solyma at the beginning 
of a sentence, and the same practice occurs three or four 
times in Milton's youthful poems. And diverticulum 
occurs also several times in Nova Solyma and in Milton's 
early works, also Idea (Nova Solyma, p. 139, and in Milton's 
Tractate on Education) and sarissa (Nova Solyma, p. 130, 
and Milton, Elegy, iv. 65). 

But we will pass on to some singular words which occur 
in Nova Solyma alone, remembering that Milton, the 
word-hunting dictionary maker, had his head full of such 
words, probably more than any man then alive in England. 
We have asturco (Nova Solyma, p. 377) ; aquaturire (Nova 
Solyma, p. 279); ancillatio (Nova Solyma, p. 355); ergas- 
teria (p. 126); innodantis (p. 332 this from Ammianus) ; 
deglntiebant (pp. 28, 212, used in Avitus) ; buccelatum 
(p. 312); tondylo (p. 259); tormentarios (p. 314); crena 
(P- J 35)> horologia circumlatitia (p. 199); noctigenam 
(p. 1 59 coined) ; compascua (p. 200), etc. 

And last of all, let us take some parallel passages. 

In Nova Solyma, p. 25, when describing the pleasure- 
grounds of Philomela's palace, we read : " Foliorum per- 
petua viriditas per se gratissimam speciem praebebat ; 
praeterea multicoloribus flosculis interpicta coerulam coeli 
plagam stellarum frequentia scintillantem, prope pari 
aemulatione, referebat." Compare this with the following 
in Milton's first college exercise, where he is speaking of 
the effect of night on the appearance of earth's flowery 
fields : " Turn quoque tellus . . . incassum denique gemmis et 



[Exc. L 

floribus tanquam stellulis interpoliret se, coelum exprimere 
conata " (Op. Lat., p. 342). The poetic thought is exactly 
the same, and is, I think, borrowed from the same source 
the Comus of Erycius Puteanus, a work well known to 
Milton. The words there are : " Juxta viam amoenissimum 
quoque pratum erat . . . partim flavis, partim albicantibus 
florum gemmis relucens ; putares in aemulatione coeli in 
ipsam quoque terram sparsas esse Stellas" (ed. 1611, 
p. 172). 

There are also a few other minor ones referred to in the 
notes, but the longest and most striking of all occurs in 
Joseph's poetic prayer at the end of Book V. This 
address of Joseph to the Deity in the silent watches of 
the night contains many passages reminding us in a very 
striking manner of the youthful Milton's college exercise 
Utrum Dies an Nox praestantior sit ? i.e. " Whether 
Day or Night is most to be preferred." The parallelisms 
are so strong that it seems that both productions are 
from one hand. 

In both accounts are the filthy imps of Hell, Incubi and 
Succubi, and baneful spectres, bloody murderers, robbers 
and stealthy thieves, the ill-omened, hooting night-birds, 
and the roaring or barking of beasts. The terrors of a 
guilty conscience are referred to as well in both, although 
that parallel passage is not adduced here. 

Finally, apart from these special verbal parallelisms, the 
general Latin prose style of Nova Solyma corresponds 
with what we should expect it to be from an examination 
of all his acknowledged Latin works. 

Both in his college days and later in life, when he 
astonished the scholars of the Continent by his easy 
command of the Latin tongue, Milton showed no pre- 
ference for any particular Latin style. He did not set up 
for being purely Ciceronian, as did Bembo and his con- 
temporaries in Italy years before ; he did not take the 
crabbed, obscure, and difficult style which was favoured 
by many of the learned pedants of Germany and Holland ; 
he did not fall into Anglicisms, as Barclay in his Argents 
fell into Gallicisms ; nor was there anything canine in his 


Latin, as was the case with some of his opponents, 
Rowlands, to wit. He wrote good, straightforward Latin, 
using the words that came into his mind from the stores of 
his retentive memory, without watching them as to whether 
they were of the golden, silver, or brazen age. If the word 
he wanted did not present itself, he had no hesitation in 
coining one. As Pierre Bayle, the great critic, justly 
observed with some degree of surprise when he read the 
Defensio pro Populo Anglicano (which of course he sup- 
posed to be Milton's first Latin work), " he seems to have 
Latin well in hand." 

Now, all these remarks apply with equal force to Nova 
Solyma t although, from the great difference between Nova 
Solyma and his controversial Defensiones, both in subject- 
matter and in polemical bitterness, we should naturally 
expect much variation. But even in these he showed his 
old liking for diminutives, though he exercised more 
restraint in this respect than in his youthful prose. Never- 
theless, in his Defensio Secunda, in the Commonwealth days, 
Milton still showed that he could "let himself go" with 
the pet words of his youth. There I find, between pp. 
85 and 103 (ed. Amst. 1697), fraterculorum, infantulum> 
pisciculus, mendulis, citatiunculis, ancillariole, sententiolis, 
narratiunculam, oratiunculam> rhetorculo ; and these in 
the compass of less than twenty pages. 

Milton's later polemical writings in Latin are written in 
a more rhetorical and debating style than Nova Solyma^ 
and the syntax is often much more involved, and con- 
sequently there sometimes appears a marked difference 
from the simpler yet fervid style of the Romance ; but the 
difference is only apparent, and when a plain narration of 
facts occurs in the Defensiones, the styles are clearly 

What Todd says on this subject of Milton's Latin prose 
style (Milton's Works, ed. 1826, vi. 391) is much to the 
present point : " I cannot allow that his [Milton's] Latin 
performances in prose are formed on any one chaste 
Roman model. They consist of a modern factitious mode 
of Latinity, a ^compound of phraseology gleaned from a 



[Exc. L 

general imitation of various styles, commodious enough for 
the author's purpose." This is admirably put, and would 
pass for a neat and concise description of the Latin of 
Nova Sofyma, which unfortunately Todd, the erudite 
Miltonic scholar, never met with in his many literary 
researches into the origin of Paradise Lost. 



THERE was one of Milton's college exercises which was 
delivered towards the end of his university course, probably 
about 1632, which shows very clearly, and in excellent 
Latin, how highly he appreciated this igneus vigor ; this 
aura divina, which he considered God's greatest gift to 
mortal man. Professor Masson speaks of it as "one of 
the finest pieces of Latin prose ever penned by an 
Englishman." This is high praise indeed, and I gladly 
record it, for there are many turns of thought and phrase 
throughout the long speech which recall forcibly the tone 
and manner of Nova Solyma. It occupies nearly six 
closely printed folio pages in the first collected edition of 
Milton's works, 1698, and has never been completely trans- 
lated. The part that refers to the subject of this note is 
as follows : " Notum hoc esse reor, Auditores, et receptum 
omnibus, magnum mundi opificem, caetera omnia cum fluxu 
et caduca posuisset, homini praeter id quod mortale esset, 
divinam quandam auram, et quasi partem sui immiscuisse, 
immortalem indelebilem lethi et interitus immunem ; quae 
postquam in terris aliquandiu tanquam coelestis hospes, 
caste sancteque peregrinata esset, ad nativum coelum 
sursum evibraret se, debitamque ad sedem et patriam 
reverteretur ; proinde nihil merito recenseri posse in causis 
nostrae beatitudinis, nisi id et illam sempiternam et hanc 
civilem vitam aliqua ratione respiciat." 

The above is thus translated by Masson (Milton, i. 298) : 
" I regard it, my hearers, as known and accepted by all 
that the great Maker of the Universe, when He had con- 
stituted all things else fleeting and corruptible, did mingle 
up with man, in addition to that of him which is mortal, a 



certain Divine breath, as it were part of Himself, immortal, 
indestructible, free from death and extinction ; which after 
it had sojourned purely and holily for some time in the 
earth as a heavenly guest, should flutter aloft to its native 
Heaven, and return to its proper home and fatherland ; 
accordingly, that nothing can deservedly be taken into 
account as among the causes of our happiness that does 
not somehow or other regard both that everlasting life and 
this civil life below." 

The subject of this oration is, " Learning makes men 
happier than ignorance " ; and Milton expresses towards 
the end that it was longer than the University custom 
usually allowed. I think it was his supreme effort in 
Latin before he left the University, very likely a declamation 
required as part of the " act " for the Master's degree, as 
Masson suggests. 

It seems rather more Ciceronian and rhetorical than 
sundry parts of Nova Solyma, but the time and place 
and audience may account for that. But with all its 
admirable Latinity it has no such beautiful passages and 
perorations as are found occasionally in Nova Solyma, 
and in the English prose treatises of John Milton. The 
appeals and addresses to the Deity which lend such a 
solemn charm to Nova Solyma are necessarily absent 
here ; but there is a reference in the oration which we 
should hardly have expected to find there, in which 
Milton seems to claim a certain fitness and capability 
in himself for such Divine addresses. It occurs when 
he is defending learning and learned men against the 
charge of being churlish and unamiable. He says : 
" Now many complain that the majority of those who 
pass for learned men are harsh, uncourteous, of ill-ordered 
manners, with no graciousness of speech for the concilia- 
tion of the minds of their fellows. I admit, indeed, that 
one who is almost wholly secluded and immersed in 
studies is readier to address the gods than men whether 
because he is generally at home with the gods, but a 
stranger and pilgrim in human affairs, or because the 
mind, enlarged by the constant contemplation of divine 


things, and so wriggling with difficulty in the straits 
of the body, is less expert than it might otherwise be in 
the nicer gestures of social salutation " (Masson). 

Milton has also in this oration a passage against the 
quackery of grammarians and rhetoricians, of which we 
hear such strong remarks in Nova Solyina. He says : 
" Quot sunt imprimis Grammaticorum et Rhetorum nugae 
aspernabiles ? Audias in tradenda arte sua illos barbare 
loquentes, hos infantissimos " ; which Masson translates : 
" How many despicable trifles there are, in the first place, 
among grammarians and rhetoricians ! You may hear 
some talking like barbarians, and others like infants, in 
teaching their own art." * 

The lawyers fare no better. Milton describes the 
jargon used in the Law Courts as almost indescribable. 
He says he believes it must be American, or some 
gibberish unused by living men. 2 He ends with some 
natural history illustrations. In those days, thanks 
to the Euphuists, who delighted in them, they were con- 
siderably in vogue, and many were insufferably silly 
and improbable. But Milton, with one exception, steers 
clear of the ridiculous. He confines himself mainly to 
bees and ants and cranes, using the stock illustrations ; 
but the one exception is worth quoting here, for Milton 
is generally supposed to be free from foolish credulity. He 
says : " What an example of prudent and strict ethics 
do the geese give us, who, when they fly over Mount 
Taurus, stop up their bills with pebbles, and so keep down 
their natural loquacity, which they know betrays them 
into danger." 

1 Perhaps a slightly better rendering would be: "The former, as 
you may hear, when they expound their own art, speak a barbarous 
lingo ; the latter seem utterly unable to speak at all." There is, I 
think, an antithesis intended by the use of loquens and infans (speaking 
and not speaking) ; and perhaps Milton had a reminiscence of Cicero's 
remark : " Dialectici dum caute et expedite loqui volunt, infantissimi 
reperiuntur " (Auct. ad Her., ii. n). 

2 Also later in life (1649) Milton speaks of "gibberish laws " (Tenure 
of Kings and Magistrates, Bohn's ed., ii. 4), and in his Common- 
place Book, p. 22, " Norman gibbrish." 



[Exc. M 

This fine Latin oration of the youthful Milton deserves 
more attention than it has received ; in fact, so do all 
his college exercises. There is an excellent account 
of them in Masson (i. 272-306), but nowhere else. They 
have helped in many instances to add to the cumulative 
evidence I have brought together. 

The subjects usually given for the college exercises 
in Milton's days were indeed " dry bones " ; but what 
unwonted fires did he strike out from them ! When 
Milton was called to perform his part, he, as Mitford 
elegantly says, was able to " create a soul under 
the ribs of Death," and over the chopped logic of the 
schools to sprinkle " the fairest waters of the Pierian 
spring." Witness his treatment of the theme given 
in 1628 for the Philosophical Act at Cambridge Com- 
mencement. The Fellow of Christ's, who had to take 
the part of Respondent, did not feel equal to composing 
the required verses, so young Milton was asked by him 
for some "copy." The result was that fine production 
Naturam non pati senium> where the Greek mythology 
" lives " in its pristine beauty. 



THE Latin is : 

Lacta coronatas clangit Victoria pennas 

This line I had a difficulty in rendering at first, as I took 
clangit in its usual sense of the sound of a trumpet 
(clangente tuba) ; and considering the scene and surround- 
ings to which the line is applied, I naturally thought of 
the youthful Milton's beautiful lines in his At a Solemn 
Music : 

Where the bright Seraphim in burning row 
Their loud uplifted angel-trumpets blow, 

and so I expanded, or paraphrased, the line thus : 

The joyful Seraphim their trumpets raise, 
And all the winged host Thy Victory praise. 

But this did not seem satisfactory, for it is clear from 
the grammar of the line that it is Victory which makes 
the particular sound or clangor, and that the hexameter 
had to do with wings and feathers rather than with musical 
instruments. So I left the force of the rather puzzling 
word clangit undecided, using a provisional and colourless 
rendering, until some clue might be discovered. But the 
keen eyes of a friendly critic detected the word and pointed 
it out as singular in this connection, asking in what way 
I took it. I said that I supposed Victory clapped her 
wings, and nothing further was said on the subject ; but I 
determined to attack the word again on my return home. 

There, on further thoughts, I remembered that clangor 
was a term used to express the noise made by different 




[Exc. N 

kinds of birds, and that I had once read in one of the 
volumes of P. Burmann's Anthologia Latinoruin Poematum 
(Amst. 1773) a curious poem describing the various cries 
peculiar to different birds, and full of unusual Latin words 
descriptive of the same. I referred to this on my shelves, 
and found that it was the eagles who were marked out 
from other birds by the verb clango : 

Clangunt porro aquilae ; vultur pulpare probatur, 
Et crocitat corvus, fringulit et graculus, etc. 

As soon at the eagle thus came upon the scene, the 
meaning and references of the line became much clearer, 
for the eagle is the bird of Jove, and had helped him 
(as the classic fables told) in his war against the rebellious 
Titans, which contest was a somewhat parallel one to the 
apostate angels rebelling against the Almighty. Moreover, 
a crowned eagle with outspread wings was the uplifted 
standard of every Roman legion, and so a sign of victory. 
And among the good omens from birds was that especially 
of an eagle flapping its extended wings and uttering its 
strident cry (clangor] on the right. 

So I dismissed the Seraphim and the clang of their 
angel-trumpets altogether from my thoughts, and altered 
my colourless rendering to this : 

With outspread eagle wings, crowned Victory 
Her note of triumph sounds in joyous glee. 

But does it not seem strange that this pagan effigy, 
this hateful sign of the Babylon that was " drunken with 
the blood of the saints," that Scarlet Woman that sitteth on 
the seven mountains, should be seen in Joseph's nightly 
vision, and described as almost assessor with Him that 
sitteth on high and is " clothed with majesty and honour " ? 
Surely, one would say, this is dead against the Miltonic 
authorship of this poem. Milton would never place any 
emblem of the tyrant's legions so near the awful throne 
of God, nor would he thus exalt the bird of Jove to the 
companionship and service of the Triune Deity. 

But what do we find when we turn to that wonderful 


description of the war in Heaven in the sixth book of 
Paradise Lost, where " the chariot of paternal Deity," the 
cherubic car of Ezekiel, is so grandly described (lines 
750-60), and also " the sapphire throne and He that sat 
thereon " ? Strangest of parallels ! we find this a few lines 
farther on : 

At His right hand Victory 
Sat eagle-winged. 

(Paradise Lost, vi. 762-3.) 

This is so plain and forcible a parallel that I leave it in 
its naked simplicity, and I will only say further that there 
seems to be a similar strange confusion of imagery in both 
passages, both in Nova Solynia and in Paradise Lost, and, 
of course, if this be so, it is an additional argument for the 
two passages about eagle-winged Victory being by the 
same author. The matter stands thus : 

As far as I can make out, it appears the Roman goddess 
Victoria was winged, " pinnata et aligera," as Varro says, 
but not specially eag/e-wmged. His words concerning 
Victory are : " Apud Romanes Deae nomen erat cujus 
simulacrum effingebatur lauro coronatum, altera manu 
palmae, altera oleae ramum praeferens. Pinnata etiam et 
aligera pingebatur, ut e coelo devolans ad eos, quos suis 
ornare successibus vellet, pexo crine, nudo pede suspensa, 
strophio revincta, sinu vestis fluitante " (Varro, L. L., iv. 10). 
Here Milton's eagle wings are certainly not so prominently 
set forth, but we have a crowned and winged human 
figure. On the standard of the legions we have an eagle 
with wings expanded, but apparently uncrowned, and no 
human figure. In our parallel passages these distinct 
images seem mixed together. 

Again, clangit pennas is non-classical, and probably 
an invention of our author, and an incorrect one, for 
dangere is a neuter verb, and used (by Statius and Val. 
Flaccus) for the sound of the trumpet. It is only from the 
substantive clangor, and the poem about the cries of 
various birds quoted above, that we can connect the verb 
clango with the scream of the eagle or the noise of its 


clapping wings (strepitus alarum}. And even then clangit 
pennas would not pass muster. But it is just this that makes 
it Miltonic, for John Milton, great classical scholar and fine 
Latinist as he was, sometimes invented words and phrases 
which would not stand against the assaults of Salmasius 
and others ; the reason being that Milton was careless 
about what he thought to be the pedantic frippery of the 
Grammaticasters, and took his own line and phrase if it 
suited his ear, and sometimes came to grief terribly at 
least, the critics said so. He coined stelliparum, and was 
jeered at by Salmasius. He was wrong about persona. 
He said to Salmasius, " Ego te deridendum et vapulandum 
propono," and a whole troop of critics, Vavasseur, Johnson, 
and Morhof, were let loose upon him for the solecism in 
vapulandum. He coined (on second thoughts) perplacida 
in his Commonplace Book, and the meaning was not 
what he intended. In his elegy Ad Patrem, line 73, he 
uses ditescere transitively, when it is a neuter verb at 
least, so says Symmons in his Life of Milton ; and this, by 
the way, is the very fault of clangit pennas in our text. 
Nor does he fare better with his Greek. He coins 
Suor/ii/i^/za in the Epigram on Marshall's Likeness prefixed 
to his Poems of 1645, and the meaning intended is im- 
possible ; and he makes a spondee in the fourth place 
of an iambic trimeter. In another Greek epigram 
(Philosophies ad Regem quendam\ he begins : */2 ava et 
oXe'oT??. Dr. Burney, his critic, gives three pages to this 
dreadful expression ! It should have been et Ko\.ea-r}<?. 
How shocking ! ! But the fact is, Milton did not mind his 
p's and q's in these matters, nor yet his Kairtras. 

I must ask pardon for this rambling collection of odds 
and ends ; but the summing up of it all is that clangit 
pennas rather points to Milton. To present to us Victory 
making a clangor either with her eagle wings or her eagle 
scream, or with both, is, I submit, after the eagle-winged 
passage in Paradise Lost, somewhat Miltonic. 

And we notice that here too, just as in the unusual 
references to the birds that honoured the Phoenix with 
obsequious flight (Cf. Excursus Q, Phoenix), the fountain- 


head seems to be Claudian, who speaks of Victory ex- 
panding her wings in joy at the honours given to Stilicho : 

quam certa fuere 

Gaudia, cum totis exsurgens ardua pennis 
Ipsa duci sacras Victoria panderet alas ! 

and in other passages also. 

For the connection between the eagle of Jove and 
the eagle of the Roman legions we have the authority of 
Servius in his Scholia ad Aeneid, ix. 564. Many coins, 
too, have both the eagle of the legions and a winged 
image of Victory on them. 

VOL. II. 22 



SINCE my previous references to the style of Nova Solyma 
and to the curious Miltonic words that occur in it, I have 
found a strong additional proof from a most unusual word 
which is used both by the acknowledged Milton and by 
our Apelles of the Romance. That word is Belgia, and I 
now find that Milton not only uses this strange word in 
his third Latin Elegy, written when he was barely eighteen, 
but that he is also noticeable among English prose writers 
by the use of this word twice in his English pamphlets. 
He speaks of " the Churches of Belgia and Helvetia," in 
his Animadversion on Remonstrants' Defence, written in 
1641, and again he speaks of" Belgia itself" in The Tenure 
of Kings and Magistrates, which was published February 
1 3th, 1648-9. 

Our great new Historical English Dictionary, now in 
course of completion, knows no prose example of the use 
of Belgia in our whole literature. This only means that 
not one of the great host of word-finders was able to send 
Dr. Murray a single quotation from any English prose 
writer where Belgia is used for Belgium, and I was rather 
astonished to find that neither of the two examples which 
I have just adduced had been noticed by any one. 

Now, Belgia is a form absolutely without excuse, and 
Milton received a merited castigation for the mistake from 
his great opponent Salmasius in his posthumous reply of 
1660. Salmasius, when he criticised this Latin mistake 
of Milton's youth, did not know that he had repeated it 
twice in his later English works, or he would have hit 



him still harder as a confirmed blunderer ; for Belgium is 
undoubtedly correct and used in English generally, the one 
known exception proving the rule being that given in the 
Historical English Dictionary (marked by an asterisk), 
where George Chapman, the poet, speaks once of Belgia in 
his play of Caesar and Pompey (c. 1635). Thus we have 
this strong fact, that Milton, when only seventeen, misused 
Belgia for Belgium in some Latin verses, and twice again 
in middle life at the ages of thirty-three and forty he 
misused the word in English prose, these last being the 
only instances in our language, as far as generally known. 

As to the use of Belgia in Latin verse, although I 
have a large collection of Continental Neo-Latin poets in 
my library, I have not been able to find any use of the 
word Belgia y nor is it likely I should, for Belgica and 
Belga answer every purpose, and both are correct and 
frequently met with ; indeed, some of the Flemish poets 
who wrote in Latin used Belgica on nearly every second 
or third page, I possess a Latin epic in hexameters 
called Belgidos, written by a certain Daniel Souterius in 
1632 ; there are nearly twelve thousand lines in it, but 
Belgia does not occur once, though a very useful word 
for an hexameter. Belgium cannot of course occur in 
hexameters, but it occurs wherever it can that is, on the 
title-page and in the preface. 

But Belgia occurs in Nova Solyma t in the Armada 
hexameter epic : 

Una tuos excussit Belgia fraenos 

i.e. " Belgium alone has shaken off thy yoke.' The 
author of this intentionally withholds his name, although 
he speaks much in his Romance of his hero, a chaste 
Joseph, and of a concealed Apelles who does not wish 
the critics to see him ; but surely we shall be worse than 
blind old Isaac the patriarch, if we cannot here discern the 
person of 

Joseph Apelles M I LTON. 

In Zedler's immense Universal Lexicon Belgia is not to 



[Exc. O 

be found, whereas in the Latin Dictionary (Cantab., 1693) 
which absorbed Milton's collections, Belgia is put first and 
Belgium after it, as if the word was perfectly correct. 
The history of the proper appellation of the country we 
still call Belgium is simple enough. 

Gallia Belgica was the name of a large northern division 
of Gallia. We find it so named in Pliny (7. 47. i), and 
inscriptions quoted by Orelli (n. 798, etc.) give the same 
title. Pliny and others also use Belgica alone and 
absolutely (though it is really an adjective) for the name 
of the country, and Caesar (B. G. 5. 24) speaks of part of 
the country under the name of Belgium. Lucan (i. 426), 
Claudian (Carin. 21, 226), and others use Belga and Belgae 
for the people of the country, and there is an inscription 
in Orelli (n. 4079), Jul. Vitalis natione Baelga. But Belgia 
is utterly unknown and unnoticed in that immense and 
exhaustive work the Totius Latinitatis Onomasticon of 
Vincentius De Vit. 

Moreover, as soon as Milton became Latin Secretary, 
we notice that he has to drop this solecism. It was much 
too ridiculous and outrageous to use in official despatches, 
and the second published letter that Milton wrote as 
Latin Secretary brings the right word Belgium from his pen 
(January 4th, 1649-50), and ever after, both officially and 
controversially, we find Belgium used, and, considering our 
relations with the Low Countries during the Common- 
wealth, it was of course used very often by him. Whether 
Milton discovered his error by perusing State documents, 
or whether he was censured or laughed out of it, we are 
not very likely to find out now. However, we can say 
this, that after 1650 Milton always used Belgium, while 
before that date he always used Belgia. 

As I have noticed in my note on the false quantity 
Brttdnum, the Latin Muses of our two Universities, Oxford 
and Cambridge, were sometimes very loose in their Latin 
proper names, and that Lycidas (Edward King), though a 
Fellow of Christ's, used Britonas and Belgia in one and 
the same panegyric, and I have found two or three other 
examples of Belgia in these compositions between 1603 


and 1650. The proper word Belgium was used, I found, 
in hendecasyllabics where the metre allowed it e.g. : 

Dicat Gallia, Belgiumque dicat 

in the Oxford Lamentations on the Death of Elizabeth 
(Oxon., 1603, p. 36), and also in the Cambridge Threno- 
thriambenticon (Cantab., 1603, p. 9, etc.), but in a few 
other instances our English University scholars used for 
some reason the anomalous word Belgia, although Belgica 
would be equally serviceable and correct as well. 

Hence we are able to draw the same useful inference 
from the word Belgia in Nova Solyma as we shall presently 
draw from the word Britonum in that Romance viz. that 
the author of Nova Solyma was most likely an English 
University man, and if so, who so probable as Milton, 
since, besides other good reasons, he is known to have 
been guilty of both these solecisms in his own published 
works ? I put the matter thus : The true author of Nova 
Solyma wished to be unknown, concealed, like Apelles, 
behind his picture ; but while he was busy there, out 
of sight, preparing his oils and colours for filling up 
the sketch of the Armada, which was yet in an un- 
finished state, he trips over Belgia and Britonum, parts 
of two old sketches of his which he had stored up with 
him for some time, and stumbles forward into full view 
of the critics, who recognise the great John Milton at 
once by these and other signs at least, my view of 
the matter is they ought to do so. I may add that 
during the course of my reading since I put together this 
Excursus ', I have come across the word Belgia used twice 
in a Discourse of Constancy by Nathaniel Wanley, M.A. 
(London, 1670). We may therefore take it that the use of 
the word Belgia in English prose is not unique, as the New 
English Dictionary might lead one to infer. However, it 
is an incorrect use and exceedingly uncommon, and the 
facts and inferences I have drawn from them in this 
Excursus remain unassailed. 

Nicholas Wanley was not the first translator of Lip- 
sius's De Constantia ; in 1 594 it was attempted by John 



[Exc. O 

Stradling. He uses the word Belgica for the country, a 
more correct word but also a more unusual one, for I 
have not noticed this anywhere else in English books. 
He speaks of " unhappy Belgica " at p. 2. 

This leads me to the inference that Belgica was the 
usual and correct word at first, but that the analogy of 
Gallia, Hispania, Iberia, Germania, etc., led soon to the 
dropping of the c, and Belgia became the form for a short 
time with one or two writers (including Milton), and then 
Belgium properly took its place. We absolutely see the 
change taking place with Milton, as I have shown. 

I have also noticed Belgia in John Marston (1599) and 
in Shakespeare (? Bacon). It was academic, as far as the 
preponderance of evidence goes. 



IN this word Britonum our author has discovered himself 
to us pretty clearly, for the first syllable of the word is 
long, and he has made it short. He thus makes the same 
false quantity that Milton was guilty of twice in his 
elegant and scholarly poems Mansus and the Epitaphiwn 
Damonis. A false quantity is a dreadful offence in the 
eyes of the ordinary pedantic scholar, and it is rather 
surprising that Salmasius, who was very severe on some 
of Milton's false quantities, did not mention these two. 

The fact, however, is that Brtto, a Briton, or Breton, has 
the penultimate long without exception in all classical 
Latin, both early and late ; e.g.;. 

De quodam Silvio Bono, qui erat Brito 
Silvius ille Bonus qui carmina nostra lacessit 
Nostra magis meruit districha Brito Bonus. 

(Auson., Epig., cvii.) 

Indeed, the word Brito is used seven times in this 
epigram of Ausonius, and always long, and is therein 
explained as equal to Britannus. Juvenal (xv. 124) has an 
hexameter ending Brltones unquam, and Martial (xi. 21) 
also has the word with penultimate long (Brit). So the 
case is clear. Moreover, there is a Latin inscription pre- 
served in Gruter's collection (569. 5) as follows : " M. Ulpio 
Justo Vix. annos XLV. natione Britto," etc., where the 
spelling goes to show the length of the penultimate, and 
there are other inscriptions all Britto. But such rigid 
laws about proper names were of no account with Milton ; 
he preferred to please his own ear, and so we have in 
his Elegy, vii. 37 : 

Cjdoniusque mini cedit venator et ille, 



[Exc. P 

where it ought most positively to be Cydoniusque, for the 
Greek is /cvScbvios, and both Virgil and Horace use it 
correctly {Ed., x. 59 ; Odes, iv. 9, 17). 

Then the first line of his beautiful Epitaphium Damonis 
ends with Daphnin et Hylan, and yet Hylas has the pen- 
ultimate short in all the classical places in which it occurs, 
and Milton has it correctly in Elegy, vii. 

Then there is TJiermoddontlA, for which he has no 
authority, and some others ; and then twice we have this 
false quantity we now speak of with regard to his own 
countrymen : 

Et tandem Armoricos Britonum sub lege colonos. 

{Epitaphium Damonis , 165.) 

Frangam Saxonicas Britonum sub Marte phalanges. 

(Mansus, 84.) 

This last is the line that pleased Landor so much. There 
is certainly a sounding tramp of war about it, and no 
doubt it pleased Milton's sensitive ear, and that was 
enough the prosody might go. But it was only very 
few scholars who dare thus let prosody go, and so I think 
that Brito and Belgia (discussed in a separate Excursus) 
are two words that have helped to draw Apelles-Milton 
from behind his canvas. These gross errors against 
classical precision are both in Nova Solyma, and both 
several times in Milton. 

There is also another point connected with the careless, 
unclassical use of Brito and its inflections which rather 
helps the Miltonic authorship of the Armada epic. 

Brito Britonis was far from being the usual Latin for 
our fellow-countrymen. Britannus was the word universally 
used both in prose and verse, and in looking through the 
Latin poets of Milton's youthful days and those somewhat 
earlier, such as Haddon, More, Cleland, and especially 
Christopher Ocklande (the author of Anglorum praelia, 
which patriotic book was ordered in 1582 to be read in 
" all Grammar and Free scholes " in the country), I found 
in this last Britannus on nearly every page, and also, 
much less frequently, Anglus, Angligena, and Brutigena, 


but not once did I find Brito or Britones, nor did I find 
the word in Haddon or Cleland or Sir Thomas More. 

It is when we come to the Oxford and Cambridge 
muses, the academical laudations on kings and princes 
between 1603 and 1640, that we find the word brought 
into use now and then. I suppose that to meet the 
requirements of elegiacs, etc., they made Britonum an 
anapaest, for an amphimacer such as Brltonum, if correctly 
scanned, would not be of much use to the youthful and 
patriotic muse. So that at the Universities, while Britannus, 
Anglus, and Angligena were still by far the most usual 
titles, yet the genitive plural Brltonum was sometimes used, 
and indeed sometimes printed, Britonum, Britanum, which 
are both hopeless. But not all would pander to the 
exigencies of metre. We meet with the pentameter : 

Brittonum ad Arctoum stant duo regna polum. 

(Threno-thriambeuticon, Cant. 1603, p. 8.) 

This may be compared with Milton's Epitaphium Damonis, 
line 171, " Brittonicum strides," where the word is coined 
by Milton, but correctly coined, with the first syllable long, 
and therefore at variance with his own Britonum a few 
lines before (line 165). But, as I have said, Milton was a 
Gallic in these matters. 

Then in the Vitis Carolinae (Oxon., 1633), on the birth 
of a son to Charles I., we have in a copy of hendecasyllabics 
the following line : 

Gallus, Brito pius, ferox lernus, 

where classical precedents are duly followed. 

Again, when the great Isaac Casaubon contributed a 
copy of Greek verses to the Lacrymae Oxonienses, published 
in 1612, when Henry Prince of Wales died in the flower 
of youth, of course he has the first syllable of the word 
long, as it should be ; and so has a certain I. BAAPKO2, 
who wrote an epicedium in Greek among the Lacrymae 
Cantabrigienses of 1619 on the death of Anne, Queen of 
James I. 

But generally the false quantity is accepted by most 


[Exc. P 

of the University Pindars, be they young or old, 
undergraduates, fellow-commoners, or dons. Indeed, 
Edward King, who signs himself Coll. Christi Socius, but 
who will be ever remembered, not by that title, but by 
the Lycidas of his dear friend Milton, gives us in two 
successive stanzas of an Alcaic genethliacon such awful 
solecisms as Brttonas (sic} and Belgia. 

The inference of all this, as I take it, is that when we 
find both BritSrmm and Belgia in the verses of Nova 
Solyma, most likely the anonymous author hailed from 
an English University, Cambridge for preference, where 
Lycidas was. If from Cambridge, who but Milton ? 



IT is mere conjecture, but I am inclined to think that 
Milton really believed in the phoenix fable, partly from 
the serious way he introduces it into Paradise Lost, and 
from the expression divina avis which he applies to it in 
his EpitapJiium Dauwnis (i. 187), and partly from the fact 
that his friend Patricius Junius (Patrick Young), for whom 
he had great esteem as a learned theological critic, asserted 
the historical truth of the phoenix in his edition of the First 
Epistle of St. Clement (1633). The fact, too, that Clement, 
in a genuine Epistle to the Church of Corinth, upholds the 
history, and uses it as a sign or proof of the Resurrection, 
would weigh considerably with Milton. For Clement's 
Epistle was Holy Scripture, or next to it, as Clement is 
referred to by St. Paul, and was therefore sufficiently early 
to be free from the Popish superstitions. 

Patrick Young said in his book that he felt no hesitation 
about the main facts related of the phoenix. " Non 
ambigo" are his words, and he inveighs strongly against 
the sceptics who are for measuring the almighty power of 
the Architect of the Universe by the weakness of human 
reason, and for limiting the Lord of Nature by those very 
laws of Nature which are really subservient to Him (leges 
ancillantis Naturae}. This line of argument would, I 
think, find a sympathetic listener in Milton. 

But even of greater weight with Milton than Patrick 
Young and the apostolic Clement would be the endorse- 
ment of Holy Writ in the Old Testament ; for Milton 
would know and probably accept the passage of 
Job xxix. 1 8, as referring to the phoenix : " I shall die in 
my nest, and I shall multiply my days as the phoenix 



(Revised Version, " sand," with marginal alternative, 
" phoenix "). And as Milton studied the Hebrew text of 
the Bible and the Rabbinical comments almost daily with 
religious perseverance, he would know that the Rabbis 
said it lived a thousand years, and so we have our poet in 
Samson Agonistes (line 1707), calling the phoenix : 

A secular bird, ages of lives. 

The Rabbis also said that it was the one bird that was 
not made subject to death, because it had abstained, and 
it alone, from the fruit of the tree of knowledge. This 
would increase Milton's interest in it. But let us trace out 
further these adoring birds with fluttering wings which 
accompany the phoenix in Nova Solyma and in Milton's 
Paradise Lost. 

The learned Samuel Bochart has a whole chapter on the 
phoenix (Hierozoicon, Part II., lib. vi., c. v.), but says 
nothing about these birds ; in fact, they seem to occur 
mainly in post-classical and Christian times. None of 
the great Latin poets refers to them, nor do the historians 
either, except Tacitus, who refers to the wonder of the 
birds, but goes into no further details. These must be 
sought for in later times, and there is no doubt that it 
was Claudian above all others who made these later 
additions to the phoenix myth current in Milton's age ; 
for although Achilles Tatius mentions them (iii. 25), and 
Corippus, an African grammarian, and Ezekiel, a Jew who 
wrote in Greek, these were authors not likely to be read 
much, or, indeed, as far as the last two are concerned, 
likely to be known to but very few, although by a curious 
coincidence both Corippus and Ezekiel are in the 
Theatrum Poetarum of Edward Phillips, Milton's nephew, 
and so likely also to be known to his uncle. 

But it was Claudian who spread the tale among the 
learned of the sixteenth and seventeenth centuries, for 
about this time he rose greatly in favour as a good model 
for Latin verse, and the Jesuits took him up. Famianus 
Strada, a shining light among them, famous for his 
admirable academical lectures, used to put before his 


pupils certain Latin verses of his own framed in the style 
of the best Latin poets of former days, Lucretius, Ovid, 
Virgil, etc., and he gave Claudian the honour of being 
included in the select half-dozen models published to the 
world. That Milton was indebted to Claudian, and that 
he had an intimate acquaintance with his poetry, has 
been admitted frequently. Valpy, in his Delphin Classics 
edition, holds it for certain that Milton copied from 
Claudian in his Latin poems, especially in his Gunpowder 
Plot poem, and also in Paradise Lost where the Garden 
of Eden and Satan are described. He names the poems 
In Rufinum and De Raptu Proserpinae as the ones which 
Milton borrowed from. 

Claudian, In Rufinum, \. 26-132 contains an Infernal 
Council and a mission of Megaera to Rufinus, which seems 
to be the original source from which Vida, Tasso, Phineas 
Fletcher, and John Milton all drew copiously. 

At procul exsanguis Rufinum perculit horror 

(In Rufinum, ii. 130), 

where Horror is personified, and the same expressive 
attribute, exsanguis, bloodless, is used by Milton in his 
Fifth of November poem. 

The following are some of the passages in Claudian 
concerning these " accompanying birds " : 

Unicus extremo Phoenix procedit ab Euro 
Conveniunt Aquilae cunctaeque ex orbe volucres, 
Ut Solis mirentur avem. 

(Claudian, xxii. 417-9.) 

Innumerae comitentur aves, stipantque volantem 
Alituum suspensa cohors. . . . 
Nee quisquam tantis e millibus obvius audet 
Ire duci ; sed regis iter fragrantes adorant. 

(Claudian, xliv. 75-81.) 

What Milton says in Paradise Lost, v. 274, is this : 

To all the fowls he seems 
A phoenix gazed by all, as that sole bird 
When to enshrine his relics in the Sun's 
Bright temple, to Egyptian Thebes he flies. 



[Exc. Q 

But it is well known that the phoenix never went to 
Thebes at all. No one in classic or even post-classic 
times ever said such a thing except Milton. The city 
to which the phoenix really flew was Heliopolis, a very 
different locality, one being in Upper Egypt and the other 
in Lower Egypt. How was it possible that the learned 
Milton should make such a glaring mistake? I believe 
I can easily explain it, and help my contention at the 
same time. It was Claudian that was the cause of the 
blunder, for Claudian says, a little further on (xliv. 91), 
concerning the phoenix and the city it sought : 

Urbs Titana colit, centumque accline columnis 
Invehitur templum Thebaeo monte revulsis, 

which lines very easily suggest " Egyptian Thebes " with 
its hundred gates, although Heliopolis, the city of sun- 
worship, is meant. I give the translation of the above 
by Dr. Howard, Dean of Lichfield, who some years ago 
attacked the Latin of Claudian's Plwenix to divert his 
thoughts from the pains of gout, and afterwards privately 
distributed a few copies to his friends : 

In one famed city Egypt loves to pay 
Her tranquil worship to the God of Day, 
An hundred columns from the Theban hill 
Its temple courts with strength and beauty fill. 
'Tis said that thither, borne on duteous wing, 
His father's load the bird is seen to bring. 

Milton certainly ought not to have made such a blunder, 
for his favourite Ovid had made the matter clear enough, 
and had named the city and the temple in two successive 
verses : 

Perque leves auras Hyperionis urbe potitus. 
Ante fores sacras Hyperionis aede reponit. 

(Met., xv. 407.) 

But putting this aside, the result gained is not unim- 
portant, for it amounts to this, that both in Nova Solyma 
and in Paradise Lost we have very unusual references to 


the phoenix, and that Claudian was the main authority in 
each case. 

Similarly, in the Excursus on Victory beating her wings 
(Book V. ad. fin.} we have unusual references to winged 
Victory both in Nova Solyma and Paradise Lost, and 
Claudian again comes in. Such indirect evidence is 
sometimes very telling. 

Again, Tasso and Milton's Neapolitan friend Manso 
were both interested in the phoenix, and knew all about 
Claudian's later version of the admiring birds. Tasso 
mentions them (cant. 17, st. 35)/and Manso had translated 
into Italian verse Claudian's Idyll on the PJwenix, and it 
was published with some other sacred and amatory poems 
of the Marquis in 1635, about three years before Milton 
visited Manso at his beautiful Neapolitan home. Most 
likely the book was in the house, and also the Erocallia 
of 1628, where in Platonic dialogues Manso dwells at 
length on love and beauty. If so, they would be surely 
shown to Milton, who was interested in such matters, and 
perhaps given to him as a memento of his host. Milton, 
in his pastoral Epitaphium Damonis, has much to say of 
two cups which Manso gave him, richly and allegorically 
engraved, and there is a poetical high-flown description ; 
but this kind of thing is a very old friend in pastoral 
poetry. Shepherds are always delighted to have this 
opportunity ; but I rather think two such men as Manso 
and Milton would have chosen books rather than goblets, 
and I suggest that Manson gave Milton the books contain- 
ing his Phoenix and his amatory poems for were not the 
pastoral goblets adorned with the emblems of the mystic 
Bird of the Sun, and of Love shooting forth his darts o'er 
all the world ? And such were Manso's books. 

Milton was a great admirer of Tasso, and many parallel 
passages could be gathered together where the later poet 
had clearly read and imbibed the spirit of the earlier one, 
and reproduced it in his own inimitable way. 

1 The world amazed stands, and with ijer fly 
An Host of wondering birds, that sing and cry. 



In the first book of Tasso's Jerusalem Delivered, almost 
at the beginning, there is the mission of Gabriel, sent 
by the Almighty from Heaven to stir up Godfrey of 
Bulloigne to call a Council and free Jerusalem from 
the impious hands of unbelievers. This seems to have 
influenced Milton in his youthful Latin poem on the 
Gunpowder Plot, and also the mission of Mars to the 
King of Spain in Nova Solyina. But, as I have said 
before, these missions, whether of angels or devils, and 
these Infernal Councils which we meet with in several 
poets of the sixteenth and seventeenth centuries, seem 
to be best explained by referring them to a common 
origin in Claudian. 

The afore-mentioned Corippus and Ezekiel quite agree 
with Claudian in their accounts of the phoenix, and how 
the birds saluted him in reverent wonder and guarded him 
as king. These fables would commend themselves to the 
ears of Christian mystics, and to those who had been 
initiated before they turned to Christ, for was not the 
phoenix Titanius Ales, the Bird of the Sun? Was not 
Christ, too, the Sun of Righteousness, who rose with 
healing in His wings? Moreover, the time would come, 
nor was it far off, when their own Great Phoenix would rise 
from the Judgment Seat up to where He was before, and, 
with a great concourse of saints and winged angels, would 
pass " through the gates into the city " a city more lasting 
than either Heliopolis or Thebes. 

With regard to Milton and Claudian, I forgot to mention 
in the proper place that there is the best possible proof 
that Milton was a reader and admirer of Claudian even 
in his early college days. Our authority is Milton himself. 
On May 2Oth, 1628, he wrote to his friend Alexander Gil 
the younger, and quoted part of an hexameter which he 
says Claudian wrote de seipso : 

I Totum spirant praecordia Phoebum ; 

i.e. the Muse possessed him heart and soul. Milton adds 
that Claudian's words equally apply to Gil. The quotation 
is from Claudian's De Raptu Proserpinae, i. 6, and it so 


struck Milton's fancy that he imitated the idea in one of 
his Latin elegies : 

Percipies taciturn per pectora serpere Phoebum 
Irruet in totos lapsa Thalia sinus. 

(Elegy, vi. 45, 48.) 

La Fenice de Tito Giovanni Scandianese (1555) shows 
the interest taken in the phoenix in Italy in the sixteenth 
century. Besides the author's own poetical contribution 
in two books containing an explanation of the allegorical 
meaning of the phoenix, he also gives a vernacular verse 
rendering of the passages in Claudian, Ovid, Herodotus, 
etc., relating to the subject, and then the book finishes with 
contributions (sonnets) from sixteen Italian poets, including 
Bernardo Tasso, all in praise of the wonderful bird. We 
may credit Milton with as good a knowledge of the 
language and literature of Italy as any Englishman of 
that time possessed, but, after all, he need not have found 
the " admiring birds " in that quarter. They were much 
nearer to him on his own shelves in Claudian and his 
favourite Du Bartas. In the Fifth Day of the First Week 
Du Bartas gives a long account of the phoenix ; and 
Sylvester, in his somewhat doggerel translation, gives us 
"the birds" thus: 

The Phoenix, cutting th' unfrequented Aire, 
Forthwith is followed by a thousand pair 
Of wings in th' instant by th' Almighty wrought, 
With divers Size, Colours, and Motion fraught. 

I am much afraid that the obsequious birds have 
interested my readers to a far less degree than in my 
own case, and so must apologise for the tediousness of 
this Excursus. I do not claim much help from it in favour 
of my main contention ; and if any one is pleased to call 
it a rambling rigmarole, I quite agree. When people take 
a walking excursion into a curious district, they have a 
tendency to ramble away from the main road into the 
tempting byways. It is a frailty of human nature, but 
not an unpardonable one surely. 

VOL. II. 23 












THE branch of prose fiction which is entitled Romance is 
much more extensive and full of variety than is generally 
supposed. It is full of divisions and subdivisions, and 
some books belonging to it present considerable difficulty 
to any one who takes them in hand to classify and 
enumerate under their proper headings. They are often 
as hard to label as Paddy's pig was to count, because it 
was always running about all over the place. 

This difficulty is more noticeable in that division which 
includes the Utopias and the Ideal States and Cities than 
in any other. The Germans call this division " Die 
Staatsromane," and two authors of that nation 1 have 
attempted a classified enumeration. Their results differ 
considerably, and are not quite satisfactory on account 
of their many subdivisions and wire-drawn distinctions, 
which are more confusing than luminous. 

Therefore, before I attempt a short Bibliography of such 
books as are somewhat similar to Nova Solyma, or may 
have influenced it, I will endeavour to sketch out a rough 
classification of the varieties of the " Romance " branch of 
fiction as they existed in Milton's age, and up to the end 
of his century, especially as I have not seen this attempted 
in the standard works on prose fiction. 

The simplest and broadest way of classifying a romance 
is to throw it into one or other of these two divisions : 

I. Romances of Chivalry ; 

II. Romances of Love and Adventure ; 

1 R. von Mohl, Geschichte und Litteratur der Staatswissenschaften, 
i. 167-214 (1853); F. Kleinwachter, Die Staatsromane (Wien, 1891). 



but this is too rough to be of any service. Another 
classification is the following ; 

I. Romance of Classical Antiquity (i.e. Greek and 
Roman) ; 

II. Romances of Chivalry and Mediaeval Romances ; 

III. Modern Romance (from the Renaissance). 

This has been adopted by the authors of the article on 
" Romances " in the last edition of the Encyclopaedia 
Britannica, and, as far as the first two divisions are 
concerned, it was worked out very well. But in dealing 
with the third division they were by no means so 
successful, for many great omissions can be recorded. 
Even whole classes of Romance have been passed over 
without the slightest notice. For instance, the Neo-Latin 
Satirical Romance, which includes the many works pub- 
lished under the names of Somnium, Ludus, Satyricon, 
Satyra Varroniana, Satyra Menippea, etc., nearly all in 
the early part of the seventeenth century, will be found 
to be quite ignored. So is that class with which Nova 
Solyma is connected, the Romances of Ideal States and 
Cities. With the exception of an allusion to Sir Thomas 
More's Utopia, the rest of the similar Staatsromane do not 
receive even a bare acknowledgment of their existence, 
and the Voyages hnaginaires> a somewhat large class, are 
in the same predicament, while Allegorical Romance is 
also unclassified, without a shelter. 

I will, therefore, for the purpose of my rough general 
classification, accept the first two divisions of the Encyclo- 
paedia as they stand : 

I. Romances of Antiquity, Greek and Latin, Classical, 
Post-Classical, and Pseudo-Classical ; 

II. Mediaeval Romance and the Romances of Chivalry, 
laughed out of fashion by Don Quixote in 1605 ; and 
dwell more on 

III. Romance from the Renaissance .to the end of the 
seventeenth century, this last being the period within 
which Nova Solyma appeared. 

Division III. may be expanded and subdivided in the 
following rough and general manner. It must be remem- 


bered that no bibliographical niceties are attempted here : 
such would only be tedious and confusing in this con- 
nection. I have only given a classified list of names and 
approximate dates, with the object of making both the 
position of Nova Solyma in the world of Romance and its 
relation to other romances of the century a little more 
clear to the general reader. 


Renaissance to the end of the Seventeenth Century 


Sannazar's Arcadia, c. 1 500. 

Montemayor's Diana, c. 1542. 

R. Greene's Arcadia, c. 1587. 

Sir Philip Sidney's Arcadia, c. 1590. 

Honore" D'Urfe"'s Astrte, c. 1608. 


Lazarillo de Tormes (author ?), 1553. 
Thomas N ash's Jack Wilton, 1594. 
Henry Chettle's Piers Plainne, 1595. 
Mateo Aleman's Guzman de Alfarache, 1599. 
Fra Andres Perez's Picara Justina, 1605. 
Barclay's Euphormio, 1610. 
C. Sorel's Histoire Comique de Francion, 1622. 
Scarron's Le Roman Comique, 1651. 
Grimmelshausen's Simplicissimus, 1669. 


La Calprenede's Cleopatra, Cassandra, etc., 1646. 
Mile, de Scude*ri's Clelie, Le Grand Cyrus, etc., 1649. 
Roger Boyle's Parthenissa, Part I., 1654 ; complete 
edition, 1676* 


John Reynolds's The Flower of Fidelitie, London, 

1650, Svo. 1 
Sir George Mackenzie's Aretina, i66o. 2 

Many romances earlier than the seventeenth century 
(Elizabethan) may also be included under this head, e.g. : 

Emmanuel Forde's Parismus Prince of Boliemia, 

Ornatus and Artesia, etc. 
Lyly's Euphues, c. 1580, and his imitators Thomas 

Lodge, Richard Greene, etc. 
George Whetstone's romances, some of which 

belong to the preceding section (Picaresque). 

1 This is an inflated euphuistic romance written somewhat earlier 
than the date on the title-page. Here is an English romance omitted 
by Hallam in his survey of that division of Literature between 1600 
and 1650. 

3 Aretina; or. The Serious Romance. Written originally in 
English. Part I. Edinburgh. Printed for Robert Brown, 
at the Sign of the Sun, on the North-side of the Street, 

Pp. xvi. and 432 in Svo. 
Title-page ; 

Then pp. iii.-iv., An Address to all the Ladies of this Nation ; 
Pp. v.-xi., An Apologie for Romances ; 
Pp. xii.-xvi., Laudatory Poems. 
Then pp. 1-432, the Romance. 

The scene is laid in Egypt and Greece, and the work is written in 
a stilted, euphuistic style. It is tedious and uninteresting. There 
are political allusions here and there, much fighting by knights in 
defence of oppressed ladies, some incidents with pirates, and much 
telling of adventures. The author was George Mackenzie, afterwards 
knighted, the King's Advocate for Scotland, and known among the 
Covenanters as " Bloody Mackenzie." He wrote the romance at 
the age of twenty-four (1650), or even earlier, and one of the laudatory 
poems begins thus : 

Thy beardless chin high-voicedly doth declare 
That wisdom's strength lyes not in silvered hair. 

This was his first work. He dabbled in literature all his Hie, as 
his numerous works plainly show. He was cruel, ingenious, and 
unscrupulous in dealing with Covenanters and other enemies of the 
King, high or low. 

This romance seems little known to the writers on the history 
of Fiction. 


Here too must be placed the German romances, very 
popular a little after the date of Nova Solyma, viz. : 

Andreas Heinrich Bucholtz, Herculiskus und Her- 
culadisla, Braunschweig, 1659, and later edi- 
tions, 1665, 1676, all in 4to ; ist edition in 
2 vols., pp. xxxii., 1,462. 

Hercules und Valiska, Braunschweig, 1659, 

1676, 1693, 4to. 
Daniel Caspar von Lohenstein, A rminius und Thus- 

zuelda, 1689, 2 vols., 4to, pp. 3,076. 
Anton Ulrich, Duke of Brunswick Wolfenbiittel, 
Ottavia, 6 vols., 8vo, 1685. 

Aramena, 5 vols., pp. 3,882, 1669. 

Philipp von Zesen, Simson, Niirnberg, 1678, 8vo, 
pp. 782. 

Assenat, 1679, I2mo, pp. 576. 

Both Biblical. The author also wrote under the pseu- 
donym of Ritterhold von Blauen a remarkable romance 
entitled Die Adriatische Rosemund (Amsterdam, 1645, 
I2mo), which is nearer to the modern family sentimental 
novel than any other romance of the century. For this 
see Section C. of this Bibliography. 


La Citta Felice, 1553. 

Caspar Stiblin's Commentariolus de Eudaemonensium 

Republicd, 1555. 
John Valentin Andreae, Reipublicae Christianopolit- 

anae Descriptio, 1619. 
J. N. Erythraeus, Eudemia, 1637. 
Jac. Bidermannus, S.J., Utopia, 1640. 
Sir Francis Bacon's New Atlantis, 1627. 

continued by R. H., Esq., 1660. 

continued by Jos. Glanvil, 1676. 

Hartlib's Kingdom of Macaria, 1641. 
John Sadler's Olbia, the New Hand, 1660. 
Histoire des Severambes, 1677-79. 
Der Wohleingerichtete Staat . . . Ophir, 1699. 



[Bib. A 

This being the division which includes Nova Solyma, all 
the preceding works, some of which are very rare, have 
been noticed in the Bibliography. There are two more 
in this section : 

Sir T. More's Utopia, c. 1518, and 

Campanella's Civitas Satis, c. 1620; 
but these are too well known to require further notice. 


Argents, J. Barclay, 1621 (France). 1 

Ariades, Leonard de Marande, 1629 (Venice and 


Icaria, J. Bissel, S.J., 1637 (Palatinate). 
Oceana, T. Harrington, 1656 (England). 


Richard Bernard's Isle of Man, or> the Legal Proceed- 
ing in Man-shire against Sin, 1627, and frequent 
editions. 2 

Ingelo's Bentivolia and Urania, 1660. 

Bunyan's Pilgrim's Progress and other allegories, 



This division embraces the literature found generally 
under such titles as Somnium, Ludus, Satyra, Satyricon, 
etc. Several specimens are collected together in 

Elegantiores praestantiuw. virorum Satyrae, 1655. 

The one that influenced Nova Solyma most is un- 
doubtedly the Comus of Erycius Puteanus. This and two 
other uncommon specimens of the class are noticed in the 

1 Continued in 1669 by Gabriel Bugnot, O.S.B., under the title of 
Archombrotus et Theopompus. 

2 I had hoped to find some analogues between Nova Solyma and 
this popular work, as old Bernard, though a beneficed clergyman, was 
esteemed a good authority by the Puritans and sectaries. But his 
allegory proceeds chiefly on legal lines, and the two books do not 
overlap one another anywhere. 

Bib. A] 



Bibliography. This class of Neo-Latin romance was in 
its literary form founded on Petronius, Martianus Capella, 
and Boethius. Nova Solyma in its literary structure 
belongs to this class. 

Mundus Alter et Idem, 1607. 

TJie Man in t/te Moone, 1638. 

(For these see more at length Section C. of this Biblio- 

Histoire de la Lune, etc. S. de Cyrano Bergerac, 1656. 
Relation du pays de Jansenie, 1660. 

English translation, 1668. 

La Terre Australe, Nicholas Sadeur, 1676. 
Les Avantures de Jaques Sadeur, 1692. 

English translation, 1693. 

Grimmelshausen's Simplicissimus (edition 1671, the 

continuation of the Picaresque romance). 
E. G. Happel's Der Insularische Mandovelt, 1682. 

The last two German works are Robinsonades, before 
Robinson Crusoe was thought of. Simplicissimus had an 
enormous sale and wide popular influence. 



Rabelais, Cervantes, Boccaccio, and the many Italian 
story-tellers of the Renaissance, Bussy-R.abutin, etc., with 
their social satires, would come best under this division, 
and also the many spiritual or semi-religious romances of 
Italy and France, as well as Fe'ne'lon's T^maque(ijoo), just 
within our century limit. This last well-known book is hard 
to classify, but Roman didactique seems to hit the mark best. 

The following German romances belong to this division. 
They were once very popular : 

Weise, Christian, Die drey argsten Ertznarren in 
der gantzen Welt, first edition 1672, pp. 455, 
followed by editions of 1672, 1673, l6 7 6 > I <>79, 
1680, 1683, 1688. 


[Bib. A 

Weise, Die drey kliigsten Leute in der gantzen Welt, 
first edition 1675 ; others 1679, 1682, 1684, 

Fresh and lively prose. The incidents and tales are 
natural, and possess the humour of the middle classes. 
The second work is more serious and didactic than the 

Happel, Everhard Werner (1648-90), Der Aca- 
demische Roman, Ulm, 1690, pp. iv., 1,076, 8vo. 

Student life and manners. Elaborate and pedantic, 
curious, but not Picaresque. 





[Patrizi, Francesco.] 

Di M. | Francesco | Patricio, | La Citta Felice. \ In 

Venetia | par Giovan Griffio, | MDLIII. | 
Preface signed Francescus Patritius, and dated 

July 2ist, 1551. 
Pp. iv., in 8vo. 
La Citta Felice, pp. 37. 

A very uninteresting production. The ideal put forth 
seems that of the comfortable middle-class tradesman 
plenty to eat and to drink, good houses, good clothes, a 
well-managed, healthy town, good sanitary arrangements, 
and such purely materialistic conceptions. 

[Stiblinus, Caspar.] 

Commentariolus \ de Eudaemonensium \ Republica, 
| Gasparo Stiblino | auctore. | 

This rare and early Utopian work is added at the end 
of the Coropaedia of the same author, published at Basle 
in 1555 by J. Oporinus. It occupies pp. 71-127. 

The narrative begins somewhat in the usual way. There 
is a shipwreck, and the writer and others manage to 



reach the shore of an island named Macaria, in the 
Eastern Ocean, whose capital was Eudaemon, a large, 
magnificent, and happily constituted city. The inhabitants 
are described as highly educated, and most friendly to 
strangers, also as true citizens, placing the good of the 
Republic before their own interests. There are rich and 
poor, high and low, but all work together for the common 
weal without envy. One peculiar feature of Eudaemon is 
that moral notices in Greek and Latin, the Greek ones 
mainly from the Hecuba of Euripides, are engraved in 
various parts of the city. Sumptuary laws are strictly en- 
forced, drunkenness heavily punished, and all State officials 
deprived of their office for the first offence of this kind. 
Blasphemy is punished by cutting out the tongue. The 
lower classes are not allowed to vote or to share in the 
government of the Republic at all, and this notice is pub- 
licly put up : Vulgus ptssimus rerum gerendarum auctorest. 

The religion is Evangelical, without superstitious ob- 
servances. No public disputes about religion are allowed, 
nor is an opinion allowed to be expressed except by 
those who are the appointed ministers. Troublesome 
disputants to be banished. Those who have deserved well 
of the Republic are maintained at public expense. 

Their chief city is made impregnable, and kept so. It 
is of a circular form, with four gates facing the four points 
of the compass, and with three walls all round and a 
deep moat between each, and large open spaces within 
the city for military exercise and defence. A double-paged 
plan (a good woodcut) is added. 

[Andreae, Joh. Valentinus.] 

Reipublicae \ Christia \ nopolitanae \ Descriptio \ 

Praestat dies unus in DEI atriis quam alibi mil | 
le ; malim in Dei mei domo ad limen esse 
quam | in impiorum tabernaculis habitare. 
Nam | Sol et propugnaculum Jehova DEUS ; 
Jehova | gratiam gloriamque confert iis qui se 
gerunt | innocentes, eis bona non denegans. | 


Argentorati | Sumptibus haeredum Lazari Zetzneri 

| Anno MDCXIX. | 
In I2mo. 
Dedication to John Arndt, dated January ist, 1619, 

and signed Job. Valentinus Andrae, pp. 2. 
To the Christian Reader, pp. 5-21. 
Index Capitum, pp. 21-24. 
De Repub. Christ., pp. 25-220 and i p. errata. 

This little work is thrown into the form of one hundred 
short chapters dealing with the various arts, crafts, customs, 
and the manner of life in the ideal Christian city. Such 
titles as these : " De Publicis Precibus," " De Praemiis," 
" De Theatro Physico," " De Rhetorica," " De Bibliotheca," 
" De Aerario," " De Preceptoribus," " De Discipulis," " De 
Sacra Psalmodia," etc., will give some idea of the contents, 
and will show much common ground with Nova Solyma. 
The author puts forth a communist Christian republic, 
equal education, equal rights, equal opportunities and 
from these privileges women and girls are not excluded, 
hereby diverging altogether from the Miltonic line. About 
a quarter of this little book has to do with education in 
some form or other. The subject is treated in a dry, 
prosaic manner, with no illumination from wit or genius, 
but it is instructive, serious, and edifying. Schoolmasters 
are to be from the very best of the people, aristocrats by 
birth and intellect, and their pupils are to be prepared for 
service to the State, as well as for the life to come when 
they shall be citizens of Heaven. The aim of education 
is a threefold one the fear of God, the practice of virtue, 
and the cultivation of the mind, this last best obtained 
by means of Latin, Greek, and Hebrew. The subjects 
taught should be few and suitable ; the teaching of many 
and various branches of study weakens the brain-power. 
Boys are taught in the morning, and girls in the afternoon. 
Music is highly esteemed, -its character being chiefly 
devotional. Choirs often march through the streets 
singing psalms, for the author says he met such a pro- 
cession marching two and two and chanting Psalm cxxvii. 


As for religion in Christianopolis, it is just what we 
might expect from an author who spent some years in 
a Suabian Pfarrhaus, and was an earnest Lutheran 
reformer. A large and noble temple occupied the highest 
and most important site in the exact centre of the four- 
square city, and there was no image in it but that of the 
crucified Redeemer. The services of this temple were 
valued as the highest privileges of the citizens, and the 
highest State business was transacted, and ambassadors 
received within its courts or precincts. 

This rare little book is perhaps the nearest approach 
in literature to the central religious idea of Nova Solyma. 
It was written by a man of high character and ability, 
Johann Valentin Andreae, a Lutheran of an original and 
mystical turn of mind, in friendly relations with the Dukes 
of Wiirtemberg, and a very prolific writer. He has had 
the reputation of being a secret leader among that curious 
body of men known as " The Fraternity of the Rosy 
Cross," and no doubt he longed for the age to be 
" reformed " as much as Hartlib, Dury, and their great 
friend John Milton. But when he came to throw his 
thoughts into literary form, how very far did he fall below 
the high standard reached in Nova Solyma \ How greatly 
inferior in style, sublimity, and poetic fervour is our good 
and able Lutheran ! Both are sane and capable men, 
but the author of Nova Solyma is a genius. 

Eudemia (first edition.) 

Jani Nicii | Erythraei | Eudemiae \ Libri VIII. | 

(The sphere surrounded by the proverb Veritas 

odium parit^} 

Anno Christi Servatoris | MDCXXXVII. | 
Pp. 311 in I2mo, s.L (sed Lugd. Batavorum). 

(second edition.) 

Jani Nicii | Erythraei | Eudemiae \ Libri Decem. | 
(Printer's mark, a hand holding the two spheres 
celestial and terrestrial in a balance, with 
this motto attached to the celestial sphere: 


Coloniae Ubiorum | apud Jodacum Kalcovium | et 

socios MDCXLV. | 
Pp. xvi. prel., pp. 253, in 8vo. 

This scarce and little-noticed book, in its literary form 
and composition, is remarkably similar to Nova Solyma. 
Its Latin is somewhat more diffuse and Ciceronian, but 
the prose narrative is interspersed with Latin poetry in 
the same manner in both, and it seems pretty evident that 
Barclay's Argents and the Satyricon of Petronius were the 
two models which both authors followed as regards literary 

Eudemia is really a satire on contemporary social life in 
Italy, and especially on the higher ecclesiastics and the 
upper classes. It does not belong to the class of Utopias, 
though, strange to say, Naude has coupled it with the work 
of Sir Thomas More, and other authorities have followed 
him rather blindly, and placed Eudemia along with 
Campanella's Civitas Solis and Bacon's New Atlantis. 

The plot is simple. Two young Romans, of the time 
of Tiberius, fearing that their share in the conspiracy of 
Sejanus should be discovered, take ship for Africa, and by 
great storms are driven to one of the islands of Mauritania 
named Eudemia an island unknown to navigators, but 
populously inhabited by a Latin-speaking race with Latin 
customs. On landing safely they meet a Roman citizen 
who had been shipwrecked a few years before. He takes 
them in his charge and describes the manners, customs, 
intrigues, vices, and follies of the inhabitants of Eudemia. 

Janus Nicius Erythraeus stands in Neo-Latin for 
Giovanni Vittorio Rossi, who was an Italian humanist 
of some note in his day, a friend and correspondent of 
more than one Pope, and also very closely connected with 
Cardinal Francesco Barberini, the Roman patron of Milton 
when the poet visited Rome in 1639, just two years after 
the Eudemia had been first published in the Low Countries. 
There seems, therefore, some probability that this book 
came under Milton's notice some few years before Nova 
Solyma was published. Eudemia met with considerable 

VOL. II. 24 



learned approbation when it was first produced, and may 
have had some share in inducing the author of Nova 
Solyma to give to the world the work he had so long 
kept back, and which was so far superior to Eudemia in 
interest, genius, and poetic adornments. 

Nevertheless, Eudemia is a very entertaining romance, 
far more so than the majority of the other Latin works of 
satire and fiction which the seventeenth century produced. 
It abounds in humorous tales, some of them excellent copies 
of the Milesian fables, especially one of a man thought 
to be dead, who was buried in the Catacombs and came to 
life there, quite in the style of Petronius and his Ephesian 
widow. There is also a love story of Philotas and Olinda, 
which strongly recalls the love episode of Philippina and 
Joseph in Nova Solyma. Olinda puts on male attire and 
seeks her lover, even as did Philander, or Philippina. At 
a house where she stays as a young lad the daughter of 
the master of the house falls violently in love with her, 
just as the wanton widow did with Philander. The tale 
ends sadly with the death of the heroine, as in Nova Solyma, 
but the circumstances of the end are very different, and 
such as the rigid moralist of Nova Solyma would not have 
permitted to flow from his pen, for Philotas was a very 
different stamp of man from Joseph. 

The encyclopaedic Dr. Garnett is the only English writer 
that seems to have referred at all to this work. This was 
in April, 1898, when he read a paper before the Library 
Association on " Some Book-hunters of the Seventeenth 
Century," and took occasion to refer to the Pinacotheca 
of Erythraeus as giving some good stories about certain 
Italian collectors. He just alludes, in passing, to Eudemia 
as a romance in which Erythraeus had injured his prospects 
in life by making " too free with the characters of influential 
people." This was admirably and correctly put, but alas ! 

Quandocunque bonus dormitat Homerus 

seems universally true, for in another page of the lecture 
we are told that Nicius Erythaerus (the praenomen is 
dropped throughout) was Vittorio de Rossi, an Italian 


Jesuit (!). Erythraeus really was no more a Jesuit than 
Voltaire was, but both alike had in their early years 
received their rudiments of knowledge from the excellent 
teachers of the Society of Jesus, which may account for 
the momentary slip or sleep. Moreover, Eudemia, at 
p. 141, contains one of the most cutting tales against the 
Jesuits I have ever read. The Jesuit in the tale, to whom 
Erythraeus gives the punning epithet intestabilis, as he 
happened to have fallen into Abelard's sad predicament, 
was very possibly a real contemporary of the author, and 
the tale current gossip. This story is very high-flavoured 
and dramatic, I think more so than even an Ibsenite or a 
votary of T/te Gay Lord Quex could digest with unmoved 

[Bidermanus, Jac., SJ. (1578-1639.)] 
Utopia Didaci Bernardini, seu Jacobi Bidermani e 
Societate Jesu, sales musici quibus ludicra 
mixtim et seria literate et festive denarruntur. 
Superiorum permissu Dilingae, operis Caspari 
Tutoris, MDCXL. 
Pp. 396 in I2mo. 

Father Stengel, S.J., published this work the year after 
the author's death. The book was really written and 
finished in 1602, when Bidermann was taking his classes 
as professor of literae humaniores. His object in the book 
was to interest his pupils and others in the love of 
eloquence and virtue, and to draw them from foolish and 
frivolous pursuits. It is more a succession of moral tales 
and jocose fables and adventures than an ideal common- 
wealth book of the Utopian class. 

In Lib. II., No. 21, there is an incident entitled Cloacae 
dolus, which is strikingly similar to the account of the 
very unpleasant trap prepared by Philomela for her 
unsuspecting guests. Both incidents have most likely 
a common origin in some old tale or fable. 

There were two later editions of 1670 and 1696, and it 
was translated into Polish (Lublin, 1756, 8vo, pp. 383). 



[Bib. B 


New | Atlantis. \ A Worke unfinished, j written by 
the Right Honourable FR AN CI S, | Lord 
Verulam, Viscount St. Alban. | 

The first edition was published in folio in 1627, at the 
conclusion of the first edition of the Sylva Sylvarum, of 
which there were eleven editions between the years 1627 
and 1676, and in each of these editions the New Atlantis 
will be found. 

It was translated into French 1631 (8vo) ; into Latin 
1633, with the absurd title Novus Atlas. 

It was written as early as 1617, and published a year 
,after the author's death by Dr. Rawley, who was Bacon's 
literary executor, and is too well known to need further 
notice here. 

The continuations, however, are much less known. They 
are : 

(i) New Atlantis. \ Begun by the | Lord Verulam, 
| Viscount St. Alban's ; | and | continued by 
R. H. Esquire. | Wherein is set forth a Plat- 
form | of Monarchical Government, | with a 
Pleasant intermixture of divers rare Inventions, 
| and wholsom customs, fit to be introduced 
| into all KINGDOMS, STATES, and | 

Nunquam Libertas gratior extat 
Quam sub Rege pio. 

LONDON. | Printed for John Crooke at the Signe 
of the Ship in | St. Paul's Church-yard^ 1660. | 

Dedication to Charles II., pp. 6, in 8vo. 

Latin Iambic trimeters in honour of Viscount St. 
Alban's, by G. Herbert, pp. 2. 

Preface, signed R. H., pp. 18. 

The argument of The New Atlantis as it was begun 
by the Lord Bacon, pp. 1-7. 

T/ie New Atlantis, the second part, pp. 7-101. 


The marrow of the book consists of a detailed list of 
the manners, customs, privileges, etc., of the country, each 
paragraph beginning thus : 

" We have no poor, no beggars, no idle vagrants," etc. 

" We have in each City too [two] large Natatories, one 
for the Males, and the other for the Females, about eight 
furlongs square, and some three yards deep in the midst. 
These are suppled [supplied] with fresh rivers and delicate 
springs, and made more pleasant with Swans, Avearies 
[sic] in little Islands, artificiall fountains and variety of 
fish, than was that famous Natatory the Agrigentines made 
in honour of Gelon. In these we have twelve to preside 
as Guides in their turnes to teach all Children the Arts 
of Swimming. 

"We have every tenth child, or the most ingenious 
and capable amongst them, chosen out for learning and 
dedicate to the Church. 

" We suffer none to marry till of ripe age ; the man at 
the age of one and twenty, the woman at the age of 
eighteen compleat ; and those then to marry into their 
own ranke degree and quality, but not into their own 
kindred till after three removes. We permit not the man 
to marry after his Climacteric, nor the woman after the 
age of fifty-three. . . . Each party to be married hath 
two friends of each side to view the other parties body 
naked. This is done in the next Natatorie, the man's 
female friends viewing her in the female Natatory, and 
the woman's male friends viewing him in the male 
Natatory. 1 

1 This very strange additional law of marriage can hardly be con- 
sidered original. At most it is only a modification of what Sir Thomas 
More put forth in his Utopia nearly 1 50 years before. The first English 
translation, by Ralph Robinson in 1551, runs thus (p. 123, Arber's ed.) : 
" Furthermore in chuesing wyfes and husbandes they observe earnestly 
and straytelye a custome, which seemed to us very fonde and folyshe. 
For a sad and an honest matron sheweth the woman, be she mayde or 
widow, naked to the vvower. And likewise a sage and discrete man 
exhibyteth the wower naked to the woman." 

This plan is certainly not so modest as the one mentioned above ; but 
there was no good reason for a French translator of Utopia, named 



[Bib. B 

" We suffer no divorce but in case of adultery ; " and so 
on at great length, dealing with universities, bankrupts, 
usury, swearers and other " prophane citizens," Jews (all 
" forain rank Jews " are inhibited from living in the island), 
capital punishment, etc. There is also much on agri- 
culture, and many of Hartlib's notions are adopted or 
referred to. 

The next continuation of Bacon's New Atlantis was the 
seventh and last essay in a volume of " Essays on several 
Important Subjects in Philosophy and Religion. By Joseph 
Glanvill, Chaplain in ordinary to His Majesty, and Fellow 
of the R.S. [Royal Society]. London 1676" (4to). 

The title of the last essay was : 

(2) Antifanatical Religion | and | Free Philosophy. 
| In a continuation of the | New Atlantis. \ 
In 4to., pp. 58. 

This essay begins with a brief summary of Bacon's 
work, and how the state of philosophy in Bensalem had 
been already declared in his New Atlantis, but that the 
present author intended to enter upon a further relation of 
things of which there had been no news. So Glanvill 
gives us at great length the religious opinions prevalent 
in Bensalem, and occasionally defends them, for they are 
virtually the representation of the broad views of that part 
of the Anglican Church to which Glanvill belonged. 

The fanatical principles of the Sectaries are fiercely 
condemned, and they are represented as recently over- 

Guendeville, who published his work at Amsterdam in 1730, with 
plates, to make it still worse by giving an engraving of the pre-nuptial 
inspection, in which the " honest matrone " and the " discrete man " are 
absolutely introducing the nude couple to each other. It is true that 
the translator, in his preface, asks indulgence for his free translation 
and amplification here and there ; but this is rather too free, for Sir 
Thomas More does not suggest that all four should be present 
together, and the affair could be much more modestly carried through 
in two separate visits ; and then, too, if the first one disclosed any 
serious drawback or malformation, there would be no need of any 
further examination, which would be a relief to one of the parties, in 
any case. 

Bib. B] 



thrown in Bensalem, and the land converted by the 
evangelism of St. Bartholomew (an allusion to the Black 
Bartholomew's Day of the Nonconformists). 

The wild enthusiasm and " Phrensie " of the " Canters " 
against reason, the Solifidians and the Antinomians, who 
" had poisoned the whole Body of current Theology," had 
been replaced in Bensalem by a reasonable form of service, 
which the Ataxites (i.e. the Sectaries) had formerly held 
in abomination as prelatical. 

The preaching in Bensalem had become plain and 
practical, and the former " Gibberish " had been quite 
discarded. There was no more "bogling" at prescribed 
forms of prayer, or at the Cross in baptism, or any other 
innocent rites and decent institutions of the Church in 

Moreover, the Church no longer repelled science or 
adhered to Aristotle, right or wrong. He was not absolute 
or infallible in philosophy, no, nor yet free from many 
great mistakes. Moreover, the so-called philosophy of 
Aristotle was a depravation and corruption of it mere 
monkery and Moorish ignorance formed into idle 

As to physiology, they admitted the mechanical system 
of Descartes as wonderfully ingenious as far as it went, but 
they added to it the Platonical vitalising principles, without 
which they held the phenomena could not survive. And 
their logic, metaphysics, moral philosophy, mathematics, 
etc., are discussed in similar terms. 

As we read, we cannot help drawing comparisons 
between the ideal religious states as put forth in Nova 
Solyma and Bensalem. The views of both authors show 
them to be sane and able men with originality of character. 
But what a gulf between them ! One has enthusiasm, 
poetry, and a sober, sanctified self-restraint ; the other is 
dry, without a spark of enthusiasm or poetic fervour, 
dictatorial, conventional, and Erastian, his only redeeming 
points being his love for freedom of thought and his 
defence of " carnal human reason," as the sectaries de- 
lighted to call it. Very likely, however, Glanvill did 


something better than this afterwards, for Mr. Crossley 
tells us, in his Diary and Correspondence of Dr. Worthington 
(i. 214), that a MS. by Glanvill was in his own possession 
entitled Bensalem ; being a Description of a Catholic 
and free Spirit both in Religion and Learning, in a 
continuation of the Story of Lord Bacorfs " New Atlantis " 
(folio, 63 pp.). Mr. Crossley says it is far superior to the 
continuation by R. H., and concludes with a very interesting 
series of characters of the great divines of the day, 
including Cudworth, More, Rust, Smith, Whichcot, etc., 
whose portraits are supposed to be met with in the gallery 
at Bensalem. This description shows it to be a different 
work from the published essay of 1676. It is a pity Mr. 
Crossley did not tell us a little more about it, and to what 
extent it was different from the essay. I remember it in 
the second Crossley sale, June, 1885, and, referring to my 
old catalogue, I find it to be lot 2,922, and described 
as " probably unpublished." But Mr. Crossley says 
(I.e. supra), "It is in manuscript, and has never been 
printed." I knew nothing of Nova Solyma in those 
days, or I should have tried to buy the MS., or at least 
peruse it. 

There was also a French translation of the New Atlantis, 
and a continuation : 

La Nouvelle | Atlantide | de | Francois Bacon, | 
Chancelier d'Angleterre : | Avec des Reflex- 
ions, sur 1'institution et les | occupations des 
Academies Franchise, \sic\ \ des Sciences, et 
des Inscriptions. | Par M.R. | 

A Paris. | Chez Jean Musier au bas de la rue | 
Saint-Jacques, etc. | MDCCII. | Avec appro- 
bation et privilege du Roy. 

In 8vo. 

Pp. 10, xviii., 256. 

Bacon's Atlantis translated reaches up to p. 146 ; then 
follows the continuation, full of allusions to contemporary 
politics and current events, the personages being under 
thinly disguised names, to which a key is given at the 


beginning. It is uninteresting, and has not much to do 
with Utopian views. 

A | Description | of the famous | Kingdome | of 
Macaria ; | shewing | its excellent government ; 
| wherein | the inhabitants live in great | 
Prosperity, Health, and Happiness ; | the | 
King obeyed, the Nobles honoured ; and | 
all good men respected, Vice punished, | and 
Virtue rewarded. | An Example to other Nations. 
| In a dialogue between a Schollar and a 
traveller. | London. | Printed for Francis Con- 
stable. Anno 1641. | 
In 4to. 

Dedication to the High Court of Parliament, pp. 2. 
Then Macaria, pp. 1 5. 

This is Samuel Hartlib's Utopian kingdom, which he 
was always recurring to as a " darling child of Phantasy " 
(see Index to Worthingtoris Diary, ed. by J. Crossley). 
It is a slight work, and chiefly dwells on good husbandry 
and the careful management of the natural products of 
the earth. It is reprinted in the Harleian Miscellany, and 
therefore is easily accessible. 

[John Sadler.] 

Olbia : \ The | New Hand | lately | discovered. | 
With its Religion and Rites of Worship ; j 
Laws, Customs, and Government ; | Character 
and Language ; | with Education of their 
Children | in their Sciences, Arts and Manu- 
factures ; | with other things remarkable. | 

By a Christian Pilgrim, driven by Tempest | from 
Civita Vecchia, or some other parts j about 
Rome through the Straits | into the A T L A N- 

The First Part. \ From the Original. | 

For Samuel Hartlib, in the Ax-yard, Westminster, 
and/0/w Bartlet \ at the Guilt-cup near Austins- 
Gate London ; | and in Westminster-HdM. \ 
1660. I 


The above is the full title-page ; then follow pp. 30 
unnumbered, entitled "The Sum of this Dis- 
course." They contain a complete resumt of 
the contents of the work. 

Then comes the work itself, pp. 1-380. 

This is indeed a strange book to come from a sober 
and learned man holding simultaneously the important 
but certainly incongruous positions of Town Clerk of 
London and Master of Magdalene College, Cambridge, 
from 1649 to the Restoration in 1660. 

The book begins as if the author intended to bear out 
the title-page, and to give us a new Utopia, thus : 

" Having lost his father and other Relations, about the 
great sickness in Naples, the author becometh a sad dis- 
consolate Pilgrim, all alone by Land, till unexpected 
dangers force him from Rome or thereabout to the sea. 

" There in a great Storm and Tempest he falleth into 
inexpressible Horror and Anguish of Minde, till at length 
by Shipwrack, losing all his Company, he is cast on a 
scraggy Rock ; and There by a Religious Person (as 
an Hermite) entertained ; till recovering his Peace and 
strength with a quiet minde, he also learned the Religion, 
Laws, Customs, Language and Characters of that New 
Hand, fully described in the Books following the First Part." 

But no second part or continuation ever appeared, and 
we have undoubtedly lost a work which, considering 
the learning, character, position, and connections of the 
author, would have been a remarkable and interesting 
addition to the class of Utopian Romances. 

John Sadler, who sent forth Olbia anonymouoly, was 
a remarkable man. He was only about seven years 
younger than Milton, and came of a Shropshire family 
of good estate. He was of Emmanuel College, Cambridge, 
and was elected Fellow in 1639. He went thence to 
Lincoln's Inn to study the law, and rose to some eminence 
in his profession. His friendship was highly esteemed 
by Cromwell and Hartlib, and he, as member of Parliament 
during the Commonwealth for Cambridge first, and after- 


wards for Yarmouth, was possibly acquainted with Milton 
as Latin Secretary. Cromwell, on December 3ist, 1649, 
offered Sadler, whom he styles his " very worthie friend 
John Sadler, Esquire," the office of Chief Justice of Munster, 
in Ireland, with a salary of ;i,ooo a year. But Sadler 
excused himself from accepting it. He was much 
interested in the Jews, their conversion and return, and 
he also favoured their settling themselves in England. 
But he had a decidedly eccentric and visionary turn of 
mind, which at times ran riot on the prophecies, numbers 
(cabalistical), types, and times of Scripture, and it was 
partly this which prevented our having his Utopia. 
For he began Olbia as mentioned above, with a fair 
promise to fulfil the title-page, and then occupies all the 
rest of the 380 pages in a mad medley of Biblical numbers 
and types, the numbers 666 and 1666 occupying most 
of his attention. In this latter year (1666) something 
very extraordinary was to happen, some new dispensation, 
some Feast of Tabernacles to come, ending with the 
Great Hosanna at the Last and Great Day of the Feast. 
Sadler, Hartlib, Dury, and most of the shining religious 
lights of the Commonwealth held the conversion and 
return of the Jews to be a settled Scriptural truth, and 
so did John Milton ; but they did not approve of the 
millenary views, following in this the learned Dr. William 
Ames, who was the great authority with them. 

[Vairasse d'Allais, Denis.] 

Histoire des Severambes peuple qui habitent une 
partie du troisieme continent, ordinairement 
appele" Terre Australe. Traduite de 1'Anglais, 

Paris, 1677-9, 5 parts, I2mo. 

The History of the Sevarites of Severambi. By 

Captain Siden. 
London, 1675, ist part, pp. 114. 

1679, 2nd part, pp. 140. 

Licensed April 22nd, 1675 (ist part). 
(Translated by A. Roberts.) 


Translated into German under the title : " Geogra- 
phisches Kleinod, aus sehr angemeinen Edel- 
steinen bcstehend ; darunter der Erste eine 
Historic der Neugefundenen Volcker Sever- 
ambes genannt," etc. 

Saltzbach, 1689, 4to. 

There is said to be a Dutch translation of 1682 (Notes 
and Queries, Ser. I., vol. iii., p. 375), but I have not identified 
it. There has been much discussion as to the author and 
the language in which it was first written. Mr. James 
Crossley, the Manchester bibliophile, believed it to be 
the work of Isaac Vossius, who was in England from 
1670 to 1689, and believed also that Vossius was capable 
of writing it in English, in which language it seems to 
have first appeared in 1675, and afterwards in French 
at Paris in 1677, and a second part in 1678, also at Paris, 
chez fauteur, before the second English part (1679) was 
published. This complicates the question, and, worse 
still, the English and French versions differ. This makes 
good sport for the bibliographers, who can be seen in 
the keen exercise of their art in Notes and Queries, I. 
Ser. I., vol. iii., pp. 4, 72, 147, 374, by all who take interest in 
such matters. To me Vossius seems quite " out of court," 
since the dedications of the French volumes are signed 
D. V. D. E. L. that is, as Prosper Marchand explains in 
his Dictionnaire Historique, Denis Vairasse D'allais En 
Languedoc, I think we may take him to be the author ; 
but how the book first came to be published in English 
remains a mystery. I would suggest that Vairasse handed 
over or sold his first incomplete MS. to some one in 
England, who translated and published what he had, 
and so was first in the field, while Vairasse made additions, 
and then published his version. Anyhow, it is the live- 
liest Utopia ever written trust a Frenchman for that ; 
and since fine old racy books are too much left on the 
shelf in these scientific days, I may be permitted to give 
a brief description. 

He who relates the history is a Captain Siden (anagram 


for Denis ?). His father having left him well off, he starts 
on various travels of adventure. On one voyage to the 
East Indies he is shipwrecked, and the crew and passengers, 
three hundred men and seventy-four women, escape to an 
uninhabited country, where they remain a year. This 
part is an amusing Robinsonade, but the Gallic humour in 
some parts is rather Rabelaisian e.g. the ladies, being in 
a minority, receive "due benevolence" in a graduated 
scale, etc. However, after a year an exploration party 
sets out, and they arrive at the inhabited cities of the 
Severambi. Here high civilisation exists ; the buildings 
are magnificent, and all live in huge flats, fifty paces 
square, holding a thousand tenants. There is universal 
military service between the ages of fourteen and forty- 
nine, and, like the Boers, the women help, but even more 
strenuously, for the married women fight side by side with 
their husbands, and there are battalions of unmarried 
girls as well. Youthful intemperance is strongly checked ; 
no spirituous liquors are allowed till after marriage. 
Cremation is universal. Marriage is compulsory, men at 
nineteen, girls at sixteen. Balls and parties are arranged 
to bring on engagements, and as all know they must 
marry, matters are soon settled. Monogamy is by law 
established ; but if two married couples mutually agree to 
change partners, they may do so. This process was found 
to work well, and was in great request ! And the other 
exception was that the State officials of a certain rank 
might have extra wives. 

There is a long account of their religion. Its distin- 
guishing mark is a broad and cultivated tolerance, the 
central object of worship being the Almighty, Omniscient, 
Invisible, and Incomprehensible One. A language some- 
thing like Volapiik is invented for them, and specimens 
are given. The poetry is without rhyme, but metrical. 

They were a strong, healthy people, and treated Captain 
Sid en with every attention, and he rose to the rank 
whereby he was privileged to have three wives. Many 
other interesting customs and laws are noticed, but after a 
time our honoured captain began to get tired of his three 


wives and sixteen children, and, longing for his own old 
home, he left his Utopian household, and after a long 
journey reached his real home once more. 

There are touches of More and Campanella here and 
there, but, speaking generally, it is original and interesting, 
far above the average. 




Des bisher von vielen gesuchten 

aber nicht gefundenen 

Konigreichs Ophir 


Die vollige Kirchen-Verfas- 
sung Einrichtung der Hohen und niedern 
Schulen des Konigs Qualitaten Vermahlungs- 
Art Auferziehung der Koniglichen Printzen 
und Printzessinnen die Konigliche Hoffhalt 
und Regierung die dabei befindlichen Bedienten 
Land und Stadt-Obrigkeiten deren Erwahl 
Verricht und Besoldungen ingleichen die so 
wohl insgemein als Insonderheit das Staats- 
Policey, Justiz-Commercien-Cammer und Ge- 
sundheits-Wesen betreff- 

ende Gesetze und 


Nebst alien zu wissen nothigen Nachrichten 
und Merckwtirdigkeiten vorstellet. 


Verlegts Friedrich Groschuff. 1699. 
Pp. 608, in 8vo. 

This anonymous and little-known book is the most 
curious, earnest, and comprehensive treatise on the Ideal 
State which the seventeenth century produced. It bears 
evident marks of being written by some professor in a 
German university. 

The work is in two divisions, the first dealing with 
education, general culture, and health, the second with the 


political government, laws, and customs of the ideal Ophir, 
while in both the religion of the State, which is a broad 
and liberal Christianity, holds a prominent position. 

It is a book composed in a sane and serious spirit 
throughout, and has this great advantage over the many 
Utopias which are so often full of puerilities or ex- 
travagances. It has many points of contact with Nova 
Solyma> and occasionally similar views ; but the author, 
earnest and deep thinker as he undoubtedly was, yet was 
sadly deficient both in the poetical temperament and in 
the effective use of elegant fancy. In fact, it is an 
exhaustive monograph on the Ideal State according to the 
best notions of the end of the seventeenth century, an 
important and critical epoch, if viewed historically with 
regard to these questions ; but it lacks the poetry, genius, 
and varied fancy of Nova Solyma. 

This Utopian State has a national Church of an 
Evangelical Protestant character, but religious thought is 
free, and any views or sects are allowed, if consistent with 
God's honour, and, with this limitation, no one is to be 
abused or mocked for his religious convictions. Public 
preachers and theologians are to confine themselves to the 
exegesis and ethics of religion, and to avoid, as far as 
possible, controversial subjects. 

In education the religious element is the groundwork, 
and throughout life most important There are stringent 
laws for observing Sunday as a day of holy rest. 

The State legislation is sensible, but rather what we 
should call " grandmotherly." 

Habitual criminals are kept under restraint for life, and 
an offender three times convicted of the same offence e.g. 
theft is considered an habitual. The first theft is not 
punished at all, except that on conviction the thief must 
restore the double value of the article taken. 

In the eye of the law the highest virtues are justice and 
charity. Filthy talk and low jests are strictly forbidden, 
and the convicted offender, in whatever rank of life he 
may be, has to wear a large pair of sow's ears on his head 
for one or more days, according to the charge. The King 


must be strictly faithful to his wife, and be the paramount 
example of justice and chastity, and he or the Crown 
Prince should frequently make royal progresses through 
different provinces of the State. 

Duelling is strictly forbidden, and, strange to say, as in 
Nova Solytna^ so here, a burlesque punishment is enforced. 
The offenders are to wear for life a blunt wooden sword 
and a fool's cap. If the duellists are distinguished by the 
heraldic Jnsignia granted by the State, in that case the 
coat-of-arms must be changed to a headpiece with the 
vizor down and a pair of spectacles on it, with two cats 
as supporters. Here our serious author departs for once 
from his usual gravity ; I suppose he thought the aristo- 
crats of his day were quite impervious to anything but 
ridicule. Possibly this may explain Milton's similar case 
of hanging the duellists heels upwards. 

This Utopia had its name from the Biblical Ophir, 
whence King Solomon brought " gold and silver, ivory and 
apes and peacocks" (2 Chron. ix. 21); hence our author 
concludes very appositely thus : " Is any one curious to 
know where this kingdom of Ophir is ? then in a final 
remark I will gratify his query ; wherever the pure 
teaching and saintly life of true Christian people steadily 
flourishes, there is the finest gold of Ophir ; wherever 
righteousness and justice go together hand in hand, there 
is the goodliest silver ; wherever trade and traffic, ship 
and shop, are honestly prosperous, there is the useful 
ivory ; wherever the lower classes have set before them in 
their rulers no other examples but Christlike deeds, there 
are the best apes in the world ; and wherever all Court 
officials are truly and earnestly intent on the good of their 
king and the common weal, there are the stateliest peacocks ; 
and wherever these are all found combined, there is the 

1 Cf. Book V., chap. v. 



The most important for our subject is Comus, which first 
appeared in 1608 ; but I have not seen a copy of that 
edition. The work was evidently known to Milton, and 
there are clear signs in the lyrics of the impression it left 
upon him. Dr. Immanuel Schmidt, in his notes on Comus, 
has shown this convincingly. There are also traces in 
Nova Solyma, as I have mentioned in the notes. I think 
that Milton shaped the style of his composite work by 
the Latin style of Argents and Comus. Both received 
considerable contemporary praise. 

(2) Eryci Puteani | COMUS | sive | Phagesiposia | 

Cimmeria. | Somnium ; | Secundo jam et ac- 

curatius | editum. | 

Lovanii, | Typis Gerardi Rivii. | MDCXI. | 
In 8vo. 

Pp. 204, with page containing license and privilege, 
dated 1608. 

(3) Eryci. Puteani COMUS | sive j Phagesiposia | 

Cimmeria | Somnium. | 
Oxonii. | Excudebat Gulielmus Turner, | impensio 

H. Curteyne 1634 ; | 
Cum privilegio. | 
In sm. I2mo. 
Pp. xii., 190. 

Comus has, to my knowledge, never been translated, 
except once into French in 1613. This translation is 
very rare, and is not in the British Museum or Bodleian ; 
indeed, I have never met with a copy in England except 
my own. The title-page is as follows : 

Comus, \ ou Banquet | dissolu des | Cimmeriens. | 
Songe. | Oil par une infinite des belles feintes, 
ga- | yes, gentilles, et seVieuses inventions, | les 
VOL. II 25 



[Bib. B 

moeurs depravees de ce siecle | (et principale- 
ment aux baquets) sont do- | ctement, nai've- 
ment et singulierement | decrites, reprises et 
condamnes. | 

TraduitduLatind'ERYCIUS PVTEA- | NUS, 
Conseiller des Serenissimes Archiducs, | Pro- 
fesseur de Leurs Altesses en l'Universit de | 
Louvain, et Historiographe du Roy Catho- | 
lique. | 

Paris, | chez Nicolas la Caillo | rue Sainct- 
Jacques, aux deux Colomnes | MDCXIII. | 
Avec Privilege du Roy et des Serenissimes | 
Archiducs de Flandres. | 


Dedication to M. Florice de Riquebourg-Trigault, 

Avertissement au Lecteur, pp. 8. 

Epistola Puteani ad Pelloquinum, pp. 4. 

Approbations, pp. 4. 

Then Comus, pp. 240. In 8vo. 

In addition to the Comus of Puteanus there is a Neo- 
Latin satirical romance by a Scotchman belonging to the 
Hume family which deserves notice, as very few of our 
fellow-countrymen ever tried their pens at this kind of 
literary work, and indeed it was in fashion only for a 
very limited period anywhere. The work I mean is : 

Pantaleonis Vaticinia, Satyra. Ad nobilissimum 
virum D. Robertum Kerum, etc. Authore 
Jacobo Humio, Scoto, Medicinae Doctore, etc. 

Pp. 92, and 6 ff. 

Rothomagi, 1633, I2mo. 

This is a Latin tale after the manner of Petronius, the 
Comus above mentioned, and the EupJwrmio of Barclay. 
Hume mentions Barclay in his preface, and says he 
means to imitate his beauty of language. It is a shoot 
satire compared with Barclay's, and has several imitations 


of the Milesian fable, one of which is most astoundingly 
free for a scholar. Puteanus, in Comus, was sometimes 
rather suggestive, but Hume is salacious to a degree. 
There are several post-classical words ; this was intentional, 
Apuleius being considered worthy of imitation here ! 

Misoponeri | Satyricon | cum notis aliquot ad ob- 

scuriora | prosae loca, et Grascorum | interpre- 

tatione. | 
Lugduni Batavorum | apud Sebastianum Wolzium 

In 8vo, pp. 143. 
Pp. 3-6, a dedication to our King James I., 

flattering him for his kingly majesty, wisdom, 

and virtue. 

The book is a moral satire, written in that difficult and 
rather pedantic Latin which was in favour with learned 
men in the seventeenth century, and which bears to 
classical Latin about the same relationship that the 
English of Euphues bears to the ordinary language of the 
period. The proportion of verse in it is large, but there 
are no lyrics, as in Nova Solyma, and both verse and 
prose are alike difficult and obscure. Probably this is 
intentional, for there seems the air of learned exercise 
and a certain straining for effect in the language. The 
author puzzles his readers with an obscure hint as to his 
real name just before he begins, but I can make nothing 
of it. Nor did Mark Pattison allude to it, although he 
was against the great Casaubon being the author. A 
certain "J. A. M." says, at p. 7: "The author was not 
Lipsius or Scaliger, and therefore could be no one but 


(1) Mundus alter | et idem | sive | Terra Australis 

ante hac | semper incognita longis itineri- | bus 

peregrini Academici nuperri- | me lustrata. | 

Auth. Mercuric Brittanico. | 
Sumptibus haeredum | Ascanii de Renialme. | 
Hannoviae | per Gulielmum Antonium. | Ao. 1607. 
Engraved title-page and 7 unpaged leaves of 

preface and contents, and pp. 1-224, with 5 

folded maps. In 8vo. 

(2) Mundus | alter et idem | sive | Terra Australis 

ante | hac semper incognita longis | itineribus 

peregrini Aca- | demici nuperrime | lustrata. | 

Auth. | Mercuric Britannico. | 

Francofurti apud | haeredes Ascanii de Rinialme. | 
Engraved title-page (fine) and 7 unpaged leaves 

of preface and contents, and pp. 1-224, with 

5 folded maps. In 8vo. 

The title-pages, letterpress, and maps of these two 
editions as to type are different, but the prefatory matter 
is the same in both editions, whence we must infer that 
the stock of the two editions was interchanged. I possess 
them both, and from comparison of the maps and the 
sharpness of the letterpress I think the Frankfurt edition 
is the later one. 



(3) Mundus | alter et idem | sive Terra Australis 

antehac | semper incognita. | A U T H O R E 

M E R C U R I O | Brittannico. | 
Accesserunt Tractatus | duo. | 
Ultrajecti | apud Joannem Waes bergium, | 1643. I 
Engraved title-page and 7 unpaged leaves of 

preface; then follow pp. 1-213 of the work 

and pp. 20 of Indices. 
The rest of the little book contains Campanella's 

Civitas Soli, pp. 1-106, and Bacon's Nova 

Atlantis, pp. 1-96. In 12 mo. 

There were four translations and imitations of this in 
English (three before Milton's death) ; and also one in 
German. The earliest was : 

(4) The | Discovery | of | a New World, | or | a 

Description of the South | Indies ; | Hitherto 
Unknowne. | By an English Mercury. | 

Imprinted for Ed. Blount | and W. Barrett. | 

Engraved title-page, imitated from the Frankfurt 
edition above mentioned. The title is in a 
circle or mirror, surmounted by a figure of 
Mercury, between two imaginary maps, on 
which is inscribed : Tenterbelly, Fooliana, 
Sheelandt, Theevingen. 

Dedication to William Earl of Pembroke, 2 leaves, 
signed I. H. i.e. John Healey. 

Instructions to the Readers, 4 leaves, signed in full, 
John Healey. 

A table of chapters and occasion of this travel, 
12 leaves. 

Then pp. 1-244, tne work itself. In 8vo. 

This is a rare book ; the only copy I have seen besides 
my own is the Grenville Library copy in the British 
Museum. This differs from mine in being without the 
4 leaves or 8 pages of Instructions to the Readers, signed 
John Healey. Instead of this, the British Museum copy 
has a much shorter note of the translator, headed " I. H. 



[Bib. C 

the translator unto I. H. the author." This book is 
entered in the Stationers' Register by Thomas Thorpe, 
January i8th, 1609, which therefore we must take as the 
date, unless the publication was delayed. 

The German translation was the next that appeared. 
The title-page is : 

(5) Utopiae Pars II. | Mundus alter et idem. | Die 

heutige neue al- | te Welt | Darinnen aussfiir- 
lich und nach not- | turfft erzehlet wird, was die 
alte numehr | bald sechstausendjahrige Welt 
| fiir ein neue Welt | geboren. Aus derer 
man gleichsam in einem Spiegel ihrer Mutter 
und Gebarerin Art, Sitter, Wandel und Ge- 
brauch Au- [ genscheinlich mag sehen und er- 
kennen. | Allen Liebhabern den Gottseligkeit, 
Tu- | genden und Kilnsten zu beharrlicher Fort- 
setzung | und continuirung in ihrem loblichen 
vorhaben ; Den Weltkinden aber | zu getreuen 
Warnung von allem boser und deren hierinnen 
fur- j gebildeter Laster abzustehen ; | Erstlich 
inLatv-inischerSprachgestelltdurchden | edlen 
und hochgelehrten Herrn Albericum | Gen- 
tilem in Engelland. | Nun aber mit besonderm 
fleiss verteutscht, und mit neuen Kupffer- | 
stiicken und Landtaffeln gezieret | durch Gre- 
gorium livemvmervivm [these two words in 
Utopian characters or hieroglyphics] gedruckt 
zu Leipzig, in verlegung Henning | Grossen 
des Jiingern, Anno 1613. | 

Pp. 1-232, and page at end with printer's device. 

There are five maps. In 8vo. 

My copy is bound up with a German translation of 
More's Utopia, published by the same firm the year before, 
1612. They were probably issued together. 

The next translation, or rather imitation, was more than 
fifty years later. It was entitled : 

(6) Psittacorum Regio. | The Land of Parrots ; | or 


The Shelands. | With a description of other 
strange ad- | jacent countries in the Dominions 
of | the Prince de 1'Amour, | not hitherto found 
in any | geographical map. j By one of the 
late most reputed wits. | 

The Prophecie of Seneca in Medea. \ 

Venient annis, etc. 

When certain years are spent 
Hereafter shall the spumy Ocean show 
His secret store, and ope to mortal's view 
A larger continent .... 

Licensed November 9th, 1668. | London. Printed 
for F. Kirkinan, and are to be sold | at his 
shop under St. Ethelborougli s Church | in 

Title-page and one p. unnumbered, containing an 

Address to the Reader. 
Then the book itself, pp. 1-156, with one folding 

plate of scenes in Gluttonia and Quaffonia. 

In 8vo. 

This imitation of the Mundus Alter et Idem displays 
much more coarseness of thought and manner than would 
be allowed to pass current nowadays. The account of 
the voyage begins thus : " I embarked at All-winds Port 
in a ship called the Fancied After a little they arrived at 
the Psittacorum Regio, and found that several provinces, 
large and rich, must be passed before getting to the 
Shelands. The first province was Gluttonia, where there 
is a monthly meeting of the Alderguts, or chiefs of the 
province, to consult after dinner about the public good. 
They meet at Gurmond's Hall, and " having turned their 
Wine into Water, and their Oysters into Shells ; every one 
takes his chair and to dinner they go. . . . For the break- 
ing up of the Feast they observe this order : they have a 
door in their Hall, large enough for the greatest Cut-monger 
that lives, take him fasting ; at this door they all enter, 
when they come to the Feast ; which being ended, he 
that offers to passe the same way that he came, and 


cannot get his belly thorow, is let forth another way ; 
but he that passeth as easily as he came in, is staid by 
an Officer appointed for that purpose, called the Serjeant 
of the Maw, and brought back again (will he, nill he) 
where he must settle himself to a new Collation, until 
his belly be able to kiss both the cheeks of the door at 
once ; and then he is dismissed." 

Next follows a long account of the habits and customs 
of the neighbouring province Quaffonia, where the 
drinkers enjoy themselves, and so on through the other 
dominions of the Prince de r Amour, such as Lasciviana, 
Womandecoia, until they arrive at the capital, of which 
there is a long description ; but the coarse humour of 
the above extract prevails throughout, and need not 
be continued farther, except to show how far the schools 
of Gluttonia differed from the schools of Nova Solyma. 
" Their Schools have no Lectures read in them, but only 
Apicius his Institutions of the Art of MuncJierie ; and there 
all the young Fry are taught the sciences of carving, 
chewing, and swallowing ; Oh, most profoundly ! The 
Gluttonian Lecturer (when I was there) was one Doctor 
Full-Gorge," etc. 

Last of all, when Milton had been dead ten years, there 
appeared : 

(7) The | Travels | of | Don Francisco de | Quevedo 
| Through Terra Australis Incognita ; | dis- 
covering the | Laws, Customs, Manners, and 
Fashions | of the South Indians. | A | novel 
originally in Spanish. | Omne tulit punctum 
qui miscuit utile duct. \ London. ] Printed for 
William Grantham, at the | Crown and Pearl, 
over against Exeter- | Change in the Strand. 
1684. | 

Engraved frontispiece (T. Drapentier sc.). 


6 unnumbered pp. of Address to Reader, signed R. S. 

4 pp. of Index, and I leaf Prologue. 

Then the work, pp. 1-177. 1 I2mo. 


This book pretends to be a translation of an old tattered 
Spanish MS. found at Bilboa, in which all that remained 
of the author's name was Don Q. i.e. as Preface says, 
either Don Quevedo or Don Quixote. It is really a poor 
Grub Street production, a re'cJiauffe of its predecessors, 
with a few additions about Fooliana and Theevingania, 
and some other provinces of the imaginary kingdom. 

The author of the other companion romance to Nova 
Solyma in the period of 1600-50 was Francis Godwin, D.D., 
Bishop of Llandaff, and afterwards of Hereford (1562- 
1633). The book was first published five years after the 
author's death, and then pseudonymously. 

(i) The | Man in the Moone ; | or | a Discourse of 
| a Voyage thither | by Domingo Gonsales, | 

The Speedy Messenger. | 
London, | Printed by John Norton, for | Joshua 

Kirton, and Thomas Warren, 1638. | 
Title-page, and 4 pp. unnumbered of address " To 

the ingenious Reader," signed E. M. 
Then the work, pp. 1-126. 
On p. 15 is a good engraving of a Spanish Don 

carried up through the air by birds and helped 

by a sailing machine. Other engravings on 

pp. 28 and 44. In 8vo. 

This work is written in a clever, mystifying manner. 
It begins with much parade of date and circumstance, 
a device very successfully used by Defoe in the next 
century, as everybody knows. The book for some 
fourteen pages or so proceeds as if it were to be treated 
to a Picaresque romance, for Domingo Gonsales, the 
assumed author and hero of the romance, presents him- 
self first as a kind of " rolling stone " who sees life in 
varied aspects. But at p. 14 the change is made to 
a Robinsonade, and we have Domingo Gonsales and 
his man Friday i.e. a negro servant named Diego put 
ashore by the captain of their ship at St. Helena. Here 



[Bib. C 

they support themselves by hunting and fishing, living 
some distance apart, so as to be more sure of getting 
food, and communicating with each other by ingenious 
signalling. The swans of the island are very large and 
strong, and Domingo brings them up from nestlings, and 
so tames and trains them that it is they who eventually 
fly off upwards to the moon with him. One peculiarity 
of this very early voyage imaginaire is its scientific tone. 
The author mentions incidentally at p. 56 the earth's 
" naturall action," and that he is now constrained 
to "joyne in opinion with Copernicus"; and generally 
in detailing his wonders he attempts to explain them 
scientifically. He also speaks of the possibility of men 
flying " from place to place in the ayre ; you shall be 
able (without moving or travailing of any creature) to 
send messages in an instant many miles off, and receive 
answer again immediately ; you shall be able to declare 
your mind presently unto your friend, being in some 
private and remote place of a populous city," etc. Here 
is the telegraph as well as the telephone foreshadowed 
in 1638! 

For nineteen years there was no new English edition, 

(2) The Man | in the | Moone ; | Or | A Discourse 
| of a Voyage thither ; | By F. G., B. of H. | 
To which is added Nuncius Inani- \ matus, 
written in Latin by the | same author, and 
now | Englished by a Person | of Worth. 1 | The 
Second Edition. | London. | Printed for Joshua 
Kirton, at the Signe | of the Kings Arms in 
St. Pauls | Churchyard, 1657. | 

Frontispiece (birds carrying up the Spanish Don). 

Title-page and 4 pp. unnumbered of Address, 
signed E. M. 

The work, pp. 1-126. In 8vo. 

Engravings at pp. 15, 28, 44. 

1 The "Person of Worth" who translated the Nuncius was Thomas 
Smith, D.D., Fellow of Magdalen, Oxford. 


Then follows Nuncius Inanimatus. By F. G., B. 
of H. London. [Same imprint as above.] 

Title-page and pp. 1-14 in Latin, ending with an 
Epigram De Authore, signed Ed. M. Ch., and 
a distich by the same. In 8vo. 

Then comes Nuncius Inanimatits, or the Mysterious 
Messenger, unlocking the secrets of Men's 
Hearts. By F. G., B. of H. London. [Imprint 
as before.] 

Title-page and pp. 1-22. In 8vo. 

Translations (French) : 

(3) L'Homme | dans | la Lune, | ou | le Voyage 

Chimerique | fait au Monde de la LUNE | 
nouvellement d^couvert par Do- | minique 
Gonsales, | Advanturier Espagnol, autrement | 

Mis en notre Langue Par I. B. D. 

A Paris, chez Frangois Piot, pres la Fontaine | de 
Saint Benoist ; | Et chez | I. Guignard au 
premier pellier de la | grande Salle du Palais, 
proche les | Consultations. | 

MDCXLVIII. | Avec Privilege du Roy. | 

Frontispiece (birds carrying up Gonsalez). 


8 pp. unnumbered " Epistre a M. de Deremberg, 
Seigneur de Hirtzberg, etc. Resident de Son 
Altesse serenissime Madame La Landgrave De 
Hesse pres de Sa Majeste tres-Chrestienne." 
This is signed I. Bandoin. 

Then 2 pp. Advis du Traducteur. 

3 pp. Au Lecteur (translated from the English). 

i p. Privilege du Roy. Achever d'imprimer le 16 
Mars, 1648. 

The work, pp. 1-176. In 8vo. 

(4) Nouvelle Edn. Paris (I. Cochart), 1671. 
Frontispiece (birds carrying Gonsalez). 
Title-page and 4 pp. Au Lecteur. 

The work, pp. 1-128. In I2mo. 


Translation (German) : 

(5) Der fliegende Wan- | dersman nach den | Mond ; 

| Oder | Eine gar kurtz- | weilige und seltzame 
Be- | schreibung der Neuen Welt dess | Monds 
wie solche von einem gebor- | nen Spanier mit 
Namen Dominico Gon- | sales beschrieben ; 
Und der Nachwelt | bekant gemacht worden 
1st. | 
Aus den Franzosisschen ins Teutsche j tibergesetzet 

| Insgemein lustig zu lesen und | wird dieSach 
an sich selbsten den | Gelahrten zu fernern 
Nachden- | ken heimgestellet. | 
Wolfenblittel, | GedrQckt bey den Sternen. | In Jahr 

i659- I 

Engraved frontispiece (birds, etc.). 
2 pp. of preface, and pp. 5-129 of the work. 

(6) Another edition, very similar, with a butterfly on 

title-page instead of Wolfenbiittel ; underneath, 
" Gedriickt in Jahr 1660." 

The pagination is the same, but the lettering is 
all new. 

This German translation is anonymous, but it has been 
attributed to Hans Jakob Christoffel von Grimmelshausen, 
who was the most popular German romance writer of the 
seventeenth century (1625-76). 



(i) Relation | du pays | dejansenie, | ou il est traitte 
des | singularitez qui s'y trouvent, des | Cous- 
tumes, Mceurs, et Religion | des Habitans. | 
Par Louys Fontaines | Sieur de Saint Marcel. 
| Paris 1660. | 


Dedication a Monsieur de . 

Pp. 1-118, and folding map. In 8vo. 


Louis Fontaines was a pseudonym for Zacharie des 
Lisieux, Capucin. 

Translated into English as follows : 

(2) A | Relation | of the | Country | of | Jansenia | 
never till now described. | Wherein | is treated 
of the Singularities | founded therein, the 
Customes, | Manners, and Religion of it's | 
Inhabitants. | With a Map of the Countrey. j 
Composed in French by Lewis Foun- \ taine, 
Esq., and newly transla- | ted into English by 
P. B. | 

London. Printed for the Author, and are | sold 
by A. Banks and C. Harper, | Anno Domini, 


Dedication, 6 pp. 

The work, pp. 1-118. In 8vo. 

I will conclude with a bibliographical account of a 
romance of the middle of the seventeenth century, a very 
early precursor of the modern sentimental novel. 

[Philip von Zesen.] 

Ritterholds | von | Blauen. | Adriatische | Rose- 

mund. | Last hagt Lust. | 
Amsteltam. | Bei Ludwich Elzevihrn, 1645, | 

gemacht durch den wachschenden. | 
12 pp. of dedicatory matter to author's brother, etc., 

signed Der Aemsige. 
Then the work, pp. 1-297. I n I2mo. 
Then Filip Zesens von Furstenau Lustinne (Poems 

in Honour of Rosemund, etc.), pp. 299-368. 

This is a remarkable production for the year 1645, It 
is a love-tale of the sentimental and psychological sort 
(Ein Seelengemalde, as the German critics put it). It is 
after the fashion of Richardson's Pamela, which was the 
rage so long afterwards. It is strikingly original for 1645 : 
there are no knightly vows, no old-world tales or exag- 
gerated heroics, but love in its inner feelings, its hope. 



[Bib. C 

and fears and jealousies, love between two constant, sym- 
pathetic hearts that is the grand theme of this little 
gem of three hundred pages, worth much more than all 
the great heroical quartos of three thousand or four 
thousand pages. There is much letter- writing ; poetry, 
chiefly of love-songs, finds a place here and there ; and 
there are episodes, narratives, a description of Venice, 
and an historical essay, to break the uniformity of the 
narrative. Moreover, the plot is much simpler, and the 
characters fewer in number than in other contemporary 
romances, which is greatly in its favour. As it is a book 
inaccessible to the English reader, I append a brief 

A rich Venetian lives at Amsterdam with his wife and 
two daughters, of which the younger is our heroine, 
Rosemund. A young German named Markhold passes 
through Amsterdam on his way to Paris, is introduced to 
the family, and Rosemund falls in love with him. Her 
father is not averse to the union, but makes the condition 
that Rosemund must remain a Catholic, and if daughters 
are born, they must follow their mother in religion. 

Markhold leaves for Paris, and there finds that the 
beauteous girls of the Seine cannot efface the deep im- 
pression left on his heart by his incomparable damsel from 
the Adriatic shore. He writes her a love-letter in poetry 
in thirty-one quatrains ; but then by degrees Rosemund 
becomes anxious, gives way to all kinds of conjectures, 
and is ever suspicious about her absent lover. She cannot 
rest where she is, and first thinks she will be a nun ; but 
no, for then if Markhold came back to her, she could not 
go back to him. So she will be a shepherdess, and go into 
country quarters near Amsterdam for the summer, and 
she chooses her dresses and very becoming ones they 
are ; one is of pale blue silk with a rose-coloured lining, 
and a friend who has left her sheep to pay Rosemund a 
visit wears a cloak of white silk with coffee-coloured point 
lace (init isabellfarbenen Spitzen\ so from a feminine 
point of view they do not give up much. Rosemund 
carries out her resolution, but thinks more of Markhold 

Bib. C] A NOVEL DATED 1645 399 

than of her sheep, and carves his name on many a 
neighbouring tree. 

Meanwhile, the hero remains at Paris, not doing much, 
except taking part in a duel as second to a friend, until 
a German duchess offers to give him a place among her 
suite. He goes to her castle, and while waiting to see 
her, one of the ladies in attendance conducts him through 
the picture-gallery, and many of the tableaux are fully 
described Pyramus and Thisbe, Venus and Adonis, 
Jupiter and Ganymede, Helen and the tale of Troy, etc. 
This seems a stock subject for romances. Scudery 
makes use of it, and others too ; there is also something 
similar in Nova Solyma. Achilles Tatius and the Greek 
love-romances are the original patterns copied. 

The maid of honour, a lady in waiting, seems to take 
rather a fancy to our hero, but he honourably withdraws 
any intention of staying, and politely pleads a previous 
engagement at Rouen. He travels to Rouen, and it is 
the time of the Vintage Festival there, and our author, 
Zesen, takes the opportunity of introducing several tales 
and episodes which Markhold and his friends at Rouen 
relate to each other. At last, in his travels, our hero 
comes to his shepherdess in her rural retreat, and the joy 
of both is unspeakable. She leaves her lonely abode and 
comes with him to her paternal home, where both are 
pleasantly received. Next morning Rosemund and her 
maids walk into the garden, and there, hanging from the 
boughs of a tree, are found four love-songs addressed by 
Markhold to his fair one's eyes, heart, mouth, and hair. 

Their method of passing the day is peculiar at least in 
our modern ideas ; but it reminds us of the conversations 
in Nova Sofyma, and evidently such proceedings were con- 
sidered in " good form " then. As a matter of fact, we 
are told they spent the day thus. The fair Rosemund 
and her father give Markhold a long description of Venice 
and its political institutions, and then Markhold returns 
the compliment by a learned dissertation on the origin, 
manners and customs, arts and sciences, and wars of the 
great German race, lamenting the divisions then prevalent, 


A NOVEL DATED 1645 [Bib. C 

and taking gloomy views of a possible Turkish supremacy. 
Everything is joyous and hopeful now, the only exception 
being the religious difficulty, which stops the marriage 
for a time. Markhold is studious, and takes lodgings at 
some little distance, so as to be undisturbed while at his 
books. Rosemund falls off in health, and has a serious 
illness, caused most likely by her lover's absence, for 
when he returns she is well again almost directly. But 
he goes away again, and she is inconsolable again ; and 
here, strangest thing of all, this very original book ends, 
the author telling his readers that if they wish to know 
more of Rosemund's sorrows and sicknesses, they must 
wait till one of her friends writes her promised book 
about this sad part of the heroine's life, for that he, the 
author, feels unable to undertake it. 

The German is in some dialect form (Hamburgh, I 
think), and the spelling is most atrocious. It is therefore 
not an easy book to read. 


A A, A. J. van der, his Biog. Did., 
i. 7 n 

Abbot, Edwin A., on Bacon's New 
Atlantis, ii. 123 n 

Abbott, Dr., on Bacon's character, 
ii. 248 

Abraham from Morea, or, Isaac Re- 
deemed, i. 158 n 

Abrahams, Israel, Jewish Life in the 
Middle Ages, ii. 209 n 

Absolvere, ii. 96 n 

Addison, J., his Latin verse, i. 50 ; on 
the last two lines of Paradise Lost, 

"Adonai, Vision of," i. 194 M; ii. 

218 n. (See Vision) 
Adulterinus, i. 226 n ; ii. 197 n, 307 n 
Aeschylus, his Prometheus, i. 286 n 
Aevi venientis imago, ii. 184 n 
Affairs of State, Poems on the, written 

by the Greatest Wits of the Age, 

i. 336 n 

Alatus, i. 123 n 
Almack, Mr., his Bibliography of 

Eikon Basilike, i. 8 
Alumnuli, i. 109 n 
Anacreontics, ii. 291 n ; metre, ii. 

100 n 
Ananias, J. L., his long sentences, 

i. 223 

Angel-swan simile, i. 345. (See Ar- 
Angels, attribute given to, i. '283 n ; 

fictitious names for, i. 289 ; 

belief in, ii. 186 n 

Animadversion on Remonstrants' De- 
fence, ii. 338 

Anstey, his Latin verse, i. 50 
Antinomians, the, ii. 203 n 
Anti-Paedobaptist, ii. 198 n 
Aphthonius, his rules for compositions, 

i. 254 n 
Apollinaris, Sidonius, his expression 

multimeter, ii. 262 

VOL. II. 401 

Archer, Mr., ii. 266 

Ariosto, i. 343 

Arlington, Earl of, i. 321 

Armada epic, i. 26; ii. 277-87; con- 
jectures on the work, i. 326 ; refer- 
ences to, 328 ; personifications, 330 ; 
compared with the Gunpowder Plot 
poem, 330 ; Terror's Laugh, 339- 
44; ii. 281 ; the Angel-swan simile, 
i. 345-8 ; note to the, ii. 287-9 

Art, views on, i. 169 n 

Artes inertes, ii. 307 n 

Ascham, Roger, his interview with 
Lady Jane Grey, i. 180 n 

Atlantis, The New, ii. 372-7. (See 

Aubrey, John, i. 104 n 

Aura, meaning of, ii. 284 n 

Ausonius, epigram of, ii. 343 

Austen, Sarah, Characteristics of Goethe, 
ii. 17 n 

Autocriticon, the final, ii. 244 

Auximus, meaning of, i. 235 n 

Auximus, The Song of, ii. 268 

Avitus, Bishop of Vienne, sacred poem 
of, i. 114 ; ii. 188 n 

BACON, FRANCIS, i. 74; New Atlantis, 
i. 9, 26, 86 n; ii. 122 n, 248, 372 ; 
The Advancement of Learning, i. 13 ; 
ii. 247 ; lines from, ii. 10 n ; eulogy 
on, 123 n; parallels with Milton, 
247 ; views on education, 247 ; his 
scheme of a College of Philosophy, 
249; no allusion to Shakespeare, 
250 ; on the lower class, 25 1 
Bagehot, Walter, on Milton's charac- 
ter, ii. 122 n 
Balearica Saxa, i. 275 n 
Balzac, Le Sieur de, i. 281 n 
Baptism, epigrams on, ii. 276 n 
Barbarus, adoption of the word, ii. 299 
Barclay, John, his Argent's, i. 2, 15 ; 
number of editions, 84 n; inscription, 




85 w ; on the Quaker's view of the 
Creation, ii. 14 n ; his Gallicisms, 

Bartas, Du, his idea of the universe, 
i. 1 80 ; ii. 16 n ; Divine Weeks and 
Works, i. 251 n ; presented with a 
gold pen, 25 1 ; his Premiere 
Semaine ou Creation du Monde, i. 272 
; ii. 18 M ; on the use of heathen 
names, i. 281 ; his list of sins, ii. 
58 n ; use of the word Panchaique, 
231 n ; his allusion to Apelles, 245 n ; 
on the Phoenix, 353 

Barthius, C., ii. 100 

Basil the Great, St., ii. 185 n 

Baxter, i. 59 

Bayle, Pierre, on Milton's profond 
respect pour Dieu, i. 67 ; on his 
Latin, ii. 327 

Beaulieu, A. Leroy, Israel among the 
Nations, ii. 276 

Bedell, Bishop, i. 216 

Beggars, Guild of, in Italy, i. 150 n 

Belgia, use of the word, i. 276 n, 337 ; 
ii. 266, 338-42 

Bellenden, i. 248 n 

Bembo, his Latin verse, ii. 317? a 
Ciceronian purist, 323, 326 

Benedict!, I., La Somme des Pechez, 
ii. 276 

Bentley, Dr., his emendations on 
Milton's works, i. 175 n i 282 n ; ii. 
242 ; on the last two lines of 
Paradise Lost, ii. 255 

Bernard, Richard, his Guide to Grand 
Jurymen, i. 212 n 

Beza, his tragedy of Abraham Sacri- 
ficing, i. 158 n 

Bibliography of Romance, ii. 355-400; 
A., 357-64 ; B., 365-88 ; C., 389-400 

Bidermann, Jacob, Utopia, ii. 371 

Billingsley, Nicholas, ii. 14 ; The 
World s Infancy, ii. IO n 

Bingham, Richard, Hymnodia Chris- 
tiana Latino, ii. 302 n 

Blomfield, Bishop, Appendix to his 
Sermons, ii. 115 n 

Bochart, Samuel, on the phoenix, ii. 348 

Bodley, Sir Thomas, i. 233 n 

Boethius, a multimeter, ii. 262 ; his 
metre, 271 n 

Boreas, meaning of the term, ii. 268 n 

Bourne, Vinny, his Latin verse, i. 50 

Boyle, i. 315 

Bradshaw, John, the regicide, i. 212 n 

Breitinger, Job. Jac., i. 216 

Brict, Thomas, i. 259 n 

Bridal Song of Heavenly Love, ii. 257, 

Brinsly, J., Ludus Literarius, i. 255 n 
British Museum, copy of Nova Solyma 

hi the, i. 8 n 

Britonum, use of the word, ii. 343-6 
Brooks, Nathaniel, i. 321, 324 
Brown, John, The Stage, ii. 276 
Browne, Samuel, i. 8 
Browne, Sir Thomas, i. 166 n 
Browning, Oscar, on Milton's tractate 

on Education, i. 133 n 
" Brute earth," use of the expression, 

i. 184 
Buchanan, his Baptistes, i. 26, 54; ii. 

283 n ; his Latin verse, i. 50 ; 

rendering of Psalms, ii. 167 M, 221 

, 295 n ; a multimeter, 262 ; Maiae 

Calendae, 310; lines to Neaera, 322 
Bugnot, Gabriel, ii. 362 
Bunsen, Baron, on the epic standard 

of prose, i. 302 n 
Bunyan, i. 59 
Burmann, P., Anthologia Latinorum 

Poematum, ii. 334 
Burnet, Thomas, Sacred Theory of the 

Earth, ii. 10 n 
Burney, Dr., ii. 336 
Burrus, Petrus, variety of his metres, 

ii. 262, 274 
Byington, Prof. E. H., The Puritan in 

England and New England, i. 56 
Byzantine period, Greek romances of 

the, i. 157 

Caesares, term of, i. 297 n 
Caine, Hall, i. 302 
Calendarium Poeticum, ii. 268 n 
Callimachus, his hymns, ii. 264 
Calprenede, his Cassandre, i. 203 
Cambridge, Little St. Marie's Church, 

ii. 187 n 

Camden, William, i. 233 n 
Campion, Edmund, 1.251 n 
Canticum Sacrum, ii. 296 
Capella, Martianus, a multimeter, ii. 

Cardosa, Isaac, his Defence of the Jews, 

ii. 276 

Carmenta, i. 246 n 
Carmina Quadragesimalia, i. 173 n 
Casaubon, Isaac, i. 19; ii. 345 
Cassius, Dion, i. 121 n 
Castiglione, i. 304 
Cato, i. 78 n ; his remark on kings, ii. 

118 n 
Catullus, Andreas, ii. 301 ; his 

diminutives, 322 
Celsus, A. Cornelius, ii. 303 n 
Cessantibus, i. 108 n 
Chalybes, the, i. 286 



Charming, on Milton, ii. 190 

Chapman, George, his use of the word 
Belgia, ii. 339 

Charitas, i. 289 n 

Chastanier, M., i. 8 n 

Chateaubriand, his Memoires d'outre 
Tombe, i. 3 

Choate, Mr., on the influence of Milton, 
i. 18 

Christian Mysticism, review of, i. 195 n 

Christoffel von Grimmelshausen, Hans 
Jakob, ii. 396 

Church Government, Reason of, ex- 
tracts from, i. 10, 25, 27 et seqq 

Church Quarterly Magasine, extract 
from, i. 194 

Cicero, i. 230 n ; 242 n 

Clangit pennas, ii. 333-6 

Claudian, i. 332 ; ii. 38 n ; passages 
from, i. 272 ; his use of the ad- 
jective Panchaean, ii. 231 n; his 
poem on the phoenix, 234 n, 348- 
53; on victory, 337; In Rufinum, 


Claxton, L., The Lost Sheep Found, ii. 
200 n 

Cleitophon and Leucippe, i. 1 58 n 

Cleland, ii. 344 

Cleveland, i. 75 

Clifford, Dr., his stirring speech, i. 253 ; 
on the education of children, 319 

Clifford, Prof., his theory of the uni- 
verse, i. 1 88 n 

Coena Domini est sanctorum vitalis 
alimonia, ii. 198 n 

Coleridge, S. T., i. 84 M; on the style 
of Argent's, 15; on Milton's poems, 


Collins, J. Churton, Ephemera Crtttca, 

ii. 317 
Columella, De re Rustica, i. 77 n ; lines 

from,ii. 267 n; on the word statumen, 

ii. 303 n 
Comenius, I. A., on the education of 

girls, i. 94 ; his Miscellanea 

Tigurina, 216 
Commonplace Book, extracts from, i. 

240 n 
Commonwealth, The Ready Way to 

Establish a Free, i. 228 n, 237 n 
Comus, motto of, i. 5 n, 299 n 
Condylo, ii. 85 , 325 
Confucius, on the word reciprocity, i. 

132 n 
Conington, Prof., his rendering of 

Virgil's lines, i. 340 
Cook, John, the regicide, i. 217; his 

long sentences, 223 n 
Copernican theory, ii. II 

Corel !i, Marie, i. 302 

Corippus, on the phoenix, ii. 348, 352 

Cowley, Abraham, i. 75, 335 ; his 
Latin verse, 50; on poetry, 257 n; 
his description of a "smile," 343; 
"Philosophical College," ii. 250; 
Davideis, 309 

Crashaw, R., i. 75, 335; his transla- 
tion of the inscription in the Ar- 
genis, 85 ; Latin sacred epigrams, 
263 n ; Preface to his Steps to the 
Altar, ii. 187 n; epigram, 276 n 

Creation, views on, ii. 12 n 14 ; 
note to Lecture, 18 n 22 n 

Creighton, Dr., on Milton, i. 55 ; his 
paradox, 238 

Crena, i, 252 n ; ii. 325 

Cromwell, Oliver, i. 271 ; his internal 
conflicts, ii. 211 n 

Crossley, Mr., Diary and Correspon- 
dence of Dr. Worthington, ii. 376 

Crozier, Dr. John Beattie, on an 
Unknown Power, i. 172 

Cudworth, i. 193 n ; The Intellectual 
Universe, 190 n 

DANTE, his use of Latin, i. 14 
Daybreak, On, the poem, ii. 137 n 
Death, Inscription of the Colossus 

Guarding the River of, ii. 27 1 
Death, River of, allegory of the, i. 

119 n 

Defensio Secunda, i. 12 n; ii. 327 
Deglutiebant, i. 114 n; ii. 325 
Denham, Sir John, i. 265 n ; on the 

mode of translating poets, ii. 237 n 
Deses, use of the word, ii. 297 
Despotinus, Gaspar, i. 216 
Devil, compact with, i. 212; appear- 
ance, 213 ; cases of possession by 

the, 216 
Dictionary of Biography, National, 

i. 232 n 
Dictionary, The New English, i. 184 n, 

286 n ; ii. 338 
Dinckelius, compiler of Calendarium 

Poeticum, ii. 268 n 
Diodati, Charles, ii. 253 
Diodati, John, of Geneva, i. 10, 150 , 

216; ii. 303 n; his influence on 

Milton, i. 269 n 
Diomedes, ii. 322 
Dion, ii. 38 n 
Displosa tonitrua, i. 294 
Divi or Dei, ii. 186 n, 283 n ; ii. 295 n 
Divos volucres, ii. 272 n 
Doctrina Christiana, De, i. I, 45 et 

Don Quixote, \. 303 n 



Donadeus, i. 269 n 

Doncaster, sign at, ii. 277 

Donne, i. 266 n lines from, ii. 10 n 

Dowden, Prof., extracts from his 
Puritan and Anglican, i. 23 ; on 
Milton's female characters, ii. 44 n 

Dryden, John, lines from, i. 115 n 

Duelling, practice of, i. 299 n 

Dunster, Mr., Prima Stamina, i. 84 n, 
232 , 272 n 

Duport, James, i. 75, 335 ; on the 
termination aster, i. 246 n ; Musae 
Subsecivae, ii. IO n 

Durantinus, Sebastianus Maccius, i. 
269 n 

Durie, John, i. 73 n, 86 n ; The Re- 
formed School, 311; on the design 
of a Public Reformation, 313 

EDUCATION of girls, omission of, i 

94 n ; schemes for the reform of, 
314; views on, 319 ; ii. 247 

Education, tractate on, i. 6, 42, 55, 

95 . T 33 , 23 6 i 2 43 3 J 5 J 
ii. 7 , 251 

Edward VII., King, homage to, i. 344 
Elizabeth, Queen, threni on, i. 233 n 
Elwood, Mr., i. 193 n 
Elyot, Sir Thomas, i. 91 n 
Epigrammata Sacra, i. 263 n ; ii. 275 
Epitaphium Damonis, i. 158 n; ii. 

1 13 343. 344 
Erebo, ii. 183 n 
Ergasteria, meaning of the word, i. 

238 n; ii. 325 
Erythraeus, Janus Nicius, Eudemia, 

ii. 368-71 

Erythraeus, Nicolas, ii. 314 
Essarts, E. des, on Milton's alcaic, 

ii. 293 

Eugenius, The Song of, ii. 290 
Euripides, ii. 264 
Europe, Literature of, extract from. 

i. 16 

Evander, i. 246 n 
Evelyn, John, i. 321 
Excessus, meaning of the word, i. 92 n 
Ezekiel on the phoenix, ii. 348, 352 
Exolvit, ii. 177 n 

FABRICIUS, GEO., a multimeter, ii. 262 ; 

his sacred odes, ii. 274 n 
Fairfax, his translation of Tasso, i. 

273 n 

Faliscus, Gratius, Cynegeticon, ii. 278 n 
Fanaticus, i. 280 n 
Farnaby, Thomas, i. 75, Il6, 335 
Fell, Dr., his types, i. 7 
Feltre, Vittorinoda, his reputation as 

ac educator, i. 40 

Fenice, La, de Tito Giovanni Scan- 

dianese, ii. 353 
Fenton, Elijah, i. 291 n 
Feralis, ii. 1 35 
Ferratum sceptrum, or iron sceptre, 

i. 285 n 

Fidalmi, ii. 298 n 
Finxit, i. i85; ii. 1341 
Firth, his Oliver Cromwell, ii. 211 n 
Fletcher, Phineas, i. 75, 248*1, 267 n, 

335 ; his gold pen, 250 n ; Locustae, 

33 2 
Fontaines, Louis, A Relation of the 

Country ofjansenia, ii. 396 
Ford, Simon, London's Remains, ii. 

246 n 

Fossils, origin of, ii. 20 n 
Fulguris aura perculsi, i. 107 n 
Fulke, i. 251 n 

GALILEO, i. 191 n 

Gambetta, his influence, i. 253 n 

Garnett, Dr. Richard, ii. 144 n ; his 
Biography of Milton, i. 36 ; ii. 311 ; 
on his tractate on Education, i. 95 n ; 
on the harmony of his verse, 266 n ; 
on Hartlib, 311; on Milton's Ideal 
of Song, ii. 94 n ; on Eudemia, 370 

Gastaldus, Thomas, De potestate An- 
gelica, i. 290 

Gentile, Alberico, i. 17, 233 n 

Gil, Alexander, i. 52 ; ii. 253 ; his 
distich, i. 250 n ; his treatise on the 
Trinity, ii. 154 n 

Giraldus, Lilius Gregorius, De Poetis 
Nostrorum Temporum, ii. 318 

Gladstone, W. E., eulogium on, i. 112 n 

Glanvill, Joseph, ii. 374 

Godwin, Bishop, his Journey to the 
Moon, i. 16; ii. 393; on Milton's 
nephews, i. 320, 322, 325 

Goethe, his belief in immortality, ii. 
17 n ; his principles, 96 n 

Gorst, Mr. H. E., The Curse of Educa- 
tion, ii. 252 

Gosse, Edmund, on the difference 
between romantic and classical 
poetry, i. 365 n ; on Milton, 338 

Gostlin, Dr., alcaic to his memory, 
ii. 293 

Graham, J. J. G., his Preface to Mil- 
ton's Life in his Own Words, i. 37, 

Grammar-school boys, rules and 
models for compositions, i. 254 n 

Grammaticaster, i. 246 n ; ii. 325 

Granger, Frank, The Soul of a Christian, 
i. 195 n 

" Grass, smooth-shaven,' i. 232 n 



Grenville, Lord, Vis Electrica, ii. 283 n 
Grey, Lady Jane, her interview with 

Roger Ascham, i. 180 
Grosart, Dr., his Preface to the Col- 
lected Poems of Phineas Fletcher, i. 

Grotius, Hugh, i. 44 ; Adamus Exul., 

ii. 1 8 n 

Guendeville, ii. 374 n 
Gula, ii. 58 n 
Gunpowder Plot, poem on, i. 270 n, 

330 ; compared with the Armada 

epic, 330-5 


Haddon, ii. 344 

Hall, Bishop, i. 335 ; his Mundus 

Alter et Idem, i. 16 
Hallam, on prose fiction in 1600-50, 

i. 16 

Hamp^en, John, ii. 29 n 
Harrington, his Oceana, i. 69 
Harris, Thomas Lake, his visions, i. 

194 n ; ii. 275 n 
Harrison, Frederic, on Ruskin's long 

sentences, i. 222 n 

Hartlib, Mr. Samuel, i. 86 n ; tractate 
on Education to, 6, 237 n ; " philan- 
thropist and polypragmatist," 311; 
Macarias Happy Kingdom, 311 ; ii. 
377; his work of reform, i. 311, 
312 ; pamphlets, 311 ; literary pro- 
jects, 312, 317, 318; edits a work 
by Durie, 313 ; reason for not men- 
tioning Nova Solyma, 317 
Haweis, Mr., on F. D. Maurice, i. 123 n 
Heathen names, use of, in Christian 

poems, i. 281 n 
Heinsius, his tragedy Herodes In- 

fanticida, i. 281 n 
Hell, conception of, ii. 64 n 
Heniiques, A. G., on the case of 

Abraham, i. 162 n 

Herbert, George, lines from, ii. 1967* 
Herbert, Lord, of Cherbury, i. 335 
Hesperia, use of the word, i. 270 , 

276 ; ii. 277 n 
Heyne, C. G., the Virgilian critic, ii. 


Hine, Edward, his treatise, ii. 21 n 
Homer, i. 331 ; ii. 264; his description 

of a "smile," i. 343 
Hopkins, i. 214 n 
Horace, mistakes in scansion, ii. 283 n 
Hornmoldt, Sebastian, ii. 301 n 
Horologia circumlatitia, ii. 28 n, 325 
Horton, life at, ii. 97 n 
Howard, Dr., his attack on Claudian's 
Phoenix, ii. 350 

rluxley, Prof., on woman's rights, i. 

-luygens, i. 281 n 
Hysmine and Hysmenias, i. 157 n 

[DEAL STATE, treatise on the, ii. 382 
Igneus Vigor, ii. 272 n, 329 
Intbecilla et inopia, ii. 198 n 
Immensus, epithet for the Deity, i. 

171 n 

Irnpia Nox, ii. 279 
Inimica factio, ii. 159^ 
Institutio, meaning of the word, i. 

12 n ; ii. 245 n 
Interpicta, i. 1 10 n 
Italy, Guild of Beggars, i. 1 50 n 


James, G. P. R., i. 78 n 

Jebb, Prof., his Life of Bentley, i. 282 n 

Jewish Quarterly, extract from, i. 64 

Jews, baptism of, ii. 276 n ; marriage 
customs, 209 n 

Johnson, Samuel, on Milton's sense 
of harmony, i. 38 ; on his religious 
opinions, 53 ; on his tractate on 
Education, 95 n ; on his sanctity, 
200 n; his rendering of Psalm cxlix., 
ii. 221 n 

Jonson, Ben, on Shakespeare, i. 45 ; 
on Bacon, 190 n, 196 n; the Aris- 
totelian poet, 268 n ; his Masques, 
272 n 

Jordan, the miracle of, i. 260 n 

Jordana, Aemilia, ii. 100 n 
Joseph, his Hymn to God, ii. 253 
Reply to the Song of the Wanton 
Damsels, 271 ; his Song of Joy on 
his Return to the Fatherland, 272 ; 
Ode to the Blessed Angels, 273 ; 
Admiration for Universal Nature, 
Jowett, Prof., i. 194 n 

KEIGHTLEY, on Milton's love for long 
sentences, i. 222 n; on the metre 
of the Hymn to the Nativity, 269 n ; 
on the Armada epic, 326 

Kerrus, Joh., his translation of the 
Bridal Song, ii. 297 n 

Kidd, his doctrine of equal oppor- 
tunities, i. 96 n 

King, Edward, ii. 346; threni for, i. 


Kingdom of Ophir, The, ii. 115 n 
Kingsford, Annie, i. 194 n 
Kipling, Rudyard, i. 302 n 

LACTANTIUS, ii. 175 n ; his poem on 
the phoenix, 234 n 



VAllegro,\. 102 n 

Landor, on Milton's sense of harmony, 
i 38) 73 J on the Italian influence on 
his poetry, 269 n ; on the transla- 
tion of the Psalms, ii. 168 n ; on 
the psalm-prayer of Adam and 
Eve, 229 n ; on his alcaic, 293 ; on 
the use of diminutives, 323 

Langius, C. N., his view on the origin 
of fossils, ii. 2O n 

Latin, use of the language, i. 13 ; 
Anacreontics, ii. 291 n ; epigrams, 
i. 263 n ; literature, compositions 
of 1600-50, i. 14 ; Prose Selections 
from the Original, ii, 302-307 ; 
prose writings, play upon words, 
i. 169 

Lauder, i. 84 n 

Lawes, publishes Comus, i. 5 , 299 n 

Lawrence, Henry, Militia Spiritualis, 
i. 288 n 

Lecky, Mr., The Map of Life, extract 
from, i. 320 

Lectissima juventus, i. 236 n 

Legat, John, i. 6 ; his type, 7 

Leibnitz, i. 84 n ; his admiration of 
Argents, i. 15 

Leonardus, Camillas, i. 170 

Leporinas aures, i. 144 n 

Lhuyd, Edward, ii. 20 n 

Liguncula, i, 227 n ; ii. HO 

Literature, The New Atlantis, ii. 372; 
Protestant of the sixteenth and 
seventeenth centuries, ii. 28 n 

Locke, the chief promoter of physical 
education, i. 90 n, 91 n 

Loeb, Isidore, Le Juif et i'Hisfoire de 
la Legende, ii. 276 

Londini quod reliquum ; or, London's 
Remains, ii. 246 n 

Longinus, his rules for composition, ii. 
280 n 

Love, The Praises of the Higher, ii. 

Lucretius, mistakes in scansion, ii. 
283 n 

Lycidas, i. 40, 234 n 

Lyly, his Euphnes, i. 17 

MACKAII., on the metre of the Ptr- 

vigilium Generis, ii. 3' n 
Mackenzie, Sir George, Aretina, ii. 

360 n 
Mackenzie, Peter, his lecture on Satan, 

i. 218 

Maitland, i. 194 n 
Maittaire, M., Senilia, ii. 130 n 
Majolus, Simon, Dies Caniculares, i. 

289 n 

Male feriatus, i. 116 n 

" Manasseh's Miraculous Metamor- 
phosis," sermon on, i. 210 n 

Manilius, ii. 291 n 

Manso, his translation of Claudian's 
Idyll on the Phoenix, ii. 351 

Mansus, ii. 343, 344 

Manumissio inter amicos, ii. 3 n 

Marot, Clement, i. 258 n 

Marriage, view of, ii. 207 n 

Marshall, T. A., ii. 302 n 

Marston, John, his use of the word 
Belgiet, ii. 342 

Marvell, Andrew, i. 75, 335 

Masenius, Reverend Father Jacobus, 
Palaestra Eloquentiae Ligatae, ii. 258 

Masson, Prof., his Index to Milton's 
Life, i. 7 n ; on his love passages, 
29 ; on his Pythagorean principles, 
34 ; on his fondness of pedagogy, 
40 ; on his heterodox speculations, 
45, 47-9 ; on the Postscript to 
Smtclymnuus, 54 ; on his tract on 
Education, 133 M; on the harmony 
of his verse, 198 n ; lines on Jordan, 
261 n; article on Milton, 315; on 
a passage of his prose-poetry, 329 ; 
on his epic poem, 333 ; on the last 
two lines of Paradise Lost, ii. 255 ; 
his endings, 256; on his alcaic, 293; 
his translation of his oration, 329- 


Mather, Dr. Cotton, his Manuductio 
ad Ministerium, ii. 250 

Maurice, Rev. F. D., i. 123 n 

Maury, John, Theatruni Universae 
Vanitatis, ii. IO n 

May, Thomas, i. 75, 335 

May-day festivities, ii. 305 n 

Meibomius, H., ii. 100 n 

Melissus, Paulus, ii. 100 n, 322; a 
multimeter, 262 

Menagius, i. 282 n 

Mencken, J. B., De Charlataneria 
Eruditorum, i. 247 

Mercatura, i. 99 M 

Merchants' Exchange, description of, 
i. 202 

Mercurius Politicus, i. 54 

Merivale, C., ii. 302 n 

Metres, variety of, ii. 263-6 

Milton, John, Nova Solytna, i. I ; 
college verses, 5 ; Latin mottoes, 
5 ; Comus, 5 n, 299 n ; anonymous 
publications, 6 ; classification of 
Nova Solyma, 9 ; evidence of his 
authorship, IO et seqq ; extract from 
his Apology for Smectymnuus, 9 n ; 
belief in his genius, 10; extracts 



from Reason of Church Government, 
IO ; his interpretation of Institutio, 
12 ; ii. 245 n; on an ideal Repub- 
lic, i. 13 n; his opinion of Argenis, 
16 ; of the Mundtts, 16; estimation, 
18 ; dislike of pedantry, 20; pecu- 
liarities of his style, 20 ; independent 
character of his mind, 21; ii. gn; 
absence of classical allusions, i. 21 ; 
his aim, 22 ; absence of religious 
narrowness, 22 ; early training, 22 ; 
his projected magnum opus, 24-7 ; 
Armada epic, 26 ; ii. 287-9 > his 
visit to Italy, i. 27; ii. 287; love 
episodes, i. 27-9 ; relations to the 
fair sex, 30; love-poems, 303; 
Pythagorean principles, 33 ; ii. 96 n ; 
ideal tone of his writings, i. 34 ; 
literary forecasts for the title, 36; 
love of music, 38-40; fondness 
of pedagogy, 40-2 ; a Protestant 
scholastic, 42 ; poet, 43 ; discovery 
of his MS. theological treatise De 
Doctrina Christiana, 45 ; ii. 202 n ; 
his heterodox speculations, i. 45, 
47-9 ; Latin verse, 50 ; gift of genius, 
52 ; religious opinions, 53* 67 ; ii. 
I54; fondness for literary mys- 
tification, i. 54 ; his tractate on Edu- 
cation, 55-7, 95 n, 133 n ; ii. 7 n ; 
defects, i. 57 > a student and book- 
worm, 58; blindness, 59; ii. 254, 
289 ; popularity of Paradise Lost, 
i. 60; religious struggles, 60; times 
of inspiration, 62, 193 n; ii. 217 n, 
253, 275 n ; compared with Selden, 
i. 63 ; proof by elimination, 63 ; his 
tutor, 65 ; coincidences between the 
discourse of Apollos and Dies 
Dominica, 65-7 ', Hymn on the 
Nativity, 68; his variety of metres, 
69 ; ii. 263, 274 ; harmony of his 
prose, i. 72 ; ecstatic apostrophes to 
the Deity, 73 ; on spring-time, 77 n, 
IO2; use of the word statumina- 
bant, 79 ; ii. 303 n ; love at first 
sight, i. 8 1 n ; ii. 291 ; his imita- 
tions, i. 84 n; belief in the return of 
the twelve tribes, 88 n ; his omissions 
on the education of girls, 94w; on the 
authority of parents, 99 n ; his first 
Prolusio Oratoria, IO2; references 
to music, 103 ; fondness of com- 
pounds with per, 105 n ; diminutives, 
109 , 227 n ; ii. 320-3, 327 ; his 
keen sense of a high Avenging 
Justice, i. H2w; admiration for 
Plato, I28; antidote to his song 
of love, 131 ; his summary of 

Abraham from Morea, 158 ; vene- 
ration for the Blessed Virgin, 163 ; 
belief in the influence of the stars, 
164 n, 184 ; ii. 306 n ; admiration 
of Xenophon's writings, i. 168 n ; 
view of art and nature, 169 n, 
1 73 n > on true poetry, 171 , 

268 n ; preference for the word 
"top," 175 H his view of the con- 
stitution of the universe, 180; trans- 
lation of " in the lowest parts of the 
earth," 183 M; " brute earth," 184 n ; 
his friendship with Mr. Elwood, 
193 n; sanctity and purity, 200 ; 
allusions to the devil, 212 ; in- 
timacy with Diodati, 216, 269 ; 
belief in the personality of the 
devil, 218; his use of long sen- 
tences, 222 ; use of the adjective 
adulterinus, 226 n ; his own trans- 
lations, 227 n ; on a Council of 
State, 228 n ; influence of Sylvester, 
232 ; on education, 236 n, 240 n, 
243 n, 314, 319; ii. 247, 251; use 
of the word ergasteria, i. 238 ; 
his Commonplace Book, 240 ; on 
the study of politics, 244 n ; ii. 7 ; 
on the Italian mode of pronouncing 
Latin, i. 246 n ; faults of quantity, 
251 n; his sacred poetry, 258 ; 
on Jordan driven back, 261 n; 
his Preface to Paradise Lost, 265 n ; 
method of Prosody and Harmony, 
266 n ; on the novelty of his effusions, 

269 M ; influence of Italian poetry, 

269 n; use of the word Hesperia, 

270 n, ii. 277 n ; source of his ex- 
pression "highthof this great Argu- 
ment," i. 272 n ; quotations from 
Claudian, 273 n ; admiration for 
Tasso, 274 n; ii. 351 ; epithet "im- 
pious night," i. 275 n ; ii. 279 n ; 
his History of Moscovia, i. 276 ; 
errors in natural history, 278 n ; 
use of heathen names, 282 n ; the 
word nectarous, 282 n ; attribute 
to angels, 283 n ; ii. 166 n, i86; 
his Arian tendencies, i. 284 n ; 
ii. 154 ; his term "iron sceptre," 
i. 285 n ; fictitious names for angels, 
289 ; personification of an ab- 
straction, 295 n ; tone of romances, 

298 n ; on the practice of duelling, 

299 n; influence of the novel, 301- 
3 n ; on military exercises, 304 n ; 
his connection with reformers, 311 ; 
his pupils, 314; death of his father, 
314; unconventional spirit, 316; 
result of his system of training 



his nephews, 320, 324; conjec- 
tures on his proposed epic, 326 ; 
references to the Armada. 328 ; 
compared with the Gunpowder Plot 
poem, 330-5 ; parallelisms, 330 ; 
"Council of the Gods," 331 ; use of 
the word Belgia, 337 ; ii. 338-42 ; 
his rendering of Terror's laugh, 
i. 340; references to Heaven trem- 
bling, 341-3 ; description of a 
" smile," 343 ; angel-swan simile, 
345-8; sea, the source of rivers, 
ii. 9 n ; on the Copernican theory, 
II ; views concerning the Crea- 
tion, 12 n, 1 8 n ; admiration for 
Du Bartas and Grotius, 18 n ; on 
the daily creation of souls, 19 ; 
doctrine of seminal forms, 20 ; 
on the origin of sin, 27 n, 30 n ; 
an infinite sin, 35 n ; on natural 
instinct, 36 n ; female characters, 
44 n ; his list of Scriptural dramas, 
53 n ; on Adam's test of fidelity, 
56 n ; his conception of Hell, 64 n ; 
view of love, 78 n, 93 n ; lines 
from At a Solemn Music, 94 n, 95 n ; 
life at Horton, 97 n ; on the mor- 
tality of the soul, 113 n; the 
practice of casting lots, 1 14 ; on 
glory, 122 n; self-respect, 122 n; 
use of the word feralis, 135 n ; on 
the horrors of night, 135 n ; his 
poem On Daybreak, 137 n ; adaption 
of Rawlins's account of his capture, 
144 n; theory of the Trinity, 
154-6 n; his Puritanism, 160 ; 
translations of the Psalms, 168 n, 
221 n, 294 n ; distinction between 
resipiscentia and poenitentia, 175 > 
his habit of spelling exolvit, 177 n; 
on keeping the Sabbath, 185 n; 
belief in angels, 186-8 n ; on 
prayer, 194 n; the Quaker element 
in his worship, 194 n, 197 n; an 
Anti-Paedobaptist, 198 n ; view 
of divorce, 207 n ; on supremacy 
of man, 208 n ; his expression 
" ethereal sky," 222 n ; on refining 
the "high tides and solemn festivals," 
223-5 n > on marriage, 228 n ; 
the psalm-prayer of Adam and 
Eve, 229 n ; personification of 
Horror, 232 n ; " adoring birds " and 
the phoenix, 234 n ; hatred of 
idolatry, 240 n ; view of worship, 

241 n ; change to the first person, 

242 n ; punctuation and indenta- 
tion of lines, 243 n ; allusion to 
Apelles, 245 n ; " fate of the age," 

246 n ; parallels with Bacon, 247- 
52 ; Nova Solytna, his ideal, 249 ; 
no allusion to Bacon, 250 ; musical 
fall in the last lines, 254; endings, 
256 ; The Bridal Song of Heavenly 
Love, 257 ; superb lyrical genius, 
259 ; Greek models, 264 ; his 
sonnet How soon hath Titne, 
266 ; arrangement of lines, 269 n, 
his use of Igneus vigor, 272 n ; 
plan of composition, 280 n ; in- 
fluence of Virgil, 281 n ; repetitions, 
282 M ; mistakes in prosody, 283 n, 
290 ; his alcaic, 293 ; mention 
of the cock, 296 n ; use of deses, 
297 n; barbarus, 299 ; refined taste 
in women, 303 n ; play upon words, 
307 n ; admiration for Virgil, 308 ; 
method of versification, 308 ; the 
continual varying of the pause, 308 ; 
the adapting of the sound to the 
sense, 309- 1 3 ; the artful use of que 
and et, 314; alliteration and rhyming 
assonance, 314; punctuation, 316; 
encomium on his verse, 316; style 
of his Latin prose, 319, 327; liking 
for unusual words, 323-5; parallel 
passages, 325 ; command of the 
Latin tongue, 326 ; oration on igneus 
vigor, 329-32; natural history illus- 
trations, 33 1 ; eagle- winged Victory, 
333-7J clangit pennas, 333, 335; 
invention of words, 336 ; use of 
the word Britonum, 343-6 ; the 
phoenix myth, 347-53 ; admiration 
of Claudian, 352 

Milton, John, headmaster of Win- 
chester, i. 42 n 

Minsheu, his Dictionary, i. 1 6 

Misoponeri Satyricon, i. 19 

Missilia coeli, i. 101 n 

Mitford, Mr., his Life of Milton, i. 
\5$n; ii. 332; on his proposed 
epic, i. 327 

Monin, J. E. Du, a multimeter, ii. 262 n 

Monro, Mr., Provost of Oriel, on the 
authorship of the Odyssey, i. 76 

Montaigne, his essay on the Education 
of a Young Gentleman, i. 241 n 

Montemayor, George, Diana, i. 303 n ; 
ii. 49 n 

Moon, The Man in the, ii. 393 ; French 
translation, 395 ; German, 396 

More, Sir Thomas, ii. 344 ; his Utopia, 
i. 9 ; ii. 373 n ; his beatific visions, 
i. 193 n 

Morhof, i. 249*1 

Morley, Mr. John, on Cromwell, i. 60 ; 
his eulogium of Gladstone, 112 n; 



his speech on the return of the 

Duke and Duchess of York, ii. 225 n 
Morrice, Thomas, An Apology for 

Schoolmasters, i. 234 n 
Morris, Prof. E. E., on Milton's 

scholarship, i. 40 ; on his tractate 

on Education, 57 ; on military 

exercises, 304 n 
Morton, Bishop, i. 217 
Morus, Mr., the case of, ii. 276 
Moscovia, History of, i. 276 n 
Mulcaster, Richard, i. 91 ; on the 

education of girls, 94 n ; his view 

of the less gifted, 96 n 
Muller, Chancellor von, ii. 17 n 
Mullinger, Prof. J. B., i. 64 
Mundus Alter et Idem, i. 16; ii. 388; 

translations, ii. 389; imitations, 391 
Miinzer, Thomas, ii. 221 n 
Muretus, the great scholar, i. 249 n ; 

his use of diminutives, ii. 321 n 
Murray, Dr., ii. 338 
Music, Ode at a Solemn, i. 69 ; ii. 94 n, 

95 333 

Mysteries of Love and Eloquence, 

i. 321 
Mythology, Dictionary of, ii. 234 n 

Nativity, Hymn on the, i. 68, 69 ; com- 
position, ii. 253 ; lyric metre of the, 
263 ; its rhythmical assonance, 315 
Natura est ars Dei, i. 166 n 
Natural history illustrations, ii. 331 
Neal, History of the Puritans, i. 323 
Nectarus, use of the word, i. 282 n 
Neo-Platonists, beatific visions of, 

i. 193 n 

Neo-Pythagorean principles, ii. 26 n 
Nequam, i. 230 n 
Newton, Bishop, i. 343 ; ii. 253 
Nichol, Prof. John, his eulogy on 

Bacon, ii. 124 n 
Night, pessimistic views of, ii. 136 n ; 

" impious," epithet of, i. 275 n 
Nightingale, Ode to the, ii. 291 n 
Notes and Queries, i. J2 n ; ii. 380 
Nova Solytna, date of issue, i. I ; 
reasons for the neglect, 2 ; literary 
history, 3; title-page, 4, 6, 12; 
number of pages, 4; Latin motto, 
4 ; anonymous publication, 6 ; 
printers, 6-8 ; classification, 9 ; 
character and contents, n; addi- 
tion of the words sive Institutio 
Christiani, 12; language, 13, 19; 
style of composition, 17; similarities 
to Milton's avowed writings, 2O et 
seqq; absence of classical allusions, 
21 ; of religious narrowness, 22; 

specimen of Puritan literature, 23 ; 
love passages, 28-33 > tne Pytha- 
gorean principles, 33-6; literary 
forecasts for the title, 36, 37 ; refer- 
ences to music, 39; the pedagogical 
proof, 40-2; a Protestant scholastic, 
43 ; compared with Milton's posthu- 
mous work discovered in 1823, 44- 
50 ; metrical construction of the 
early poems, 5 1 > compared with 
the tractate on Education, 55-7 ; 
defects, 58 ; religious struggles, 60 ; 
visions of Joseph the hero, 62 ; dis- 
tinction between genius and learning, 
63 ; coincidences between the dis- 
course of Apollos and Dies Dominica, 
65-7 ; variety of metres, 70 ; 
number of reasons for the author- 
ship, 71 ; method of translation, 
71-4; spring-time, 77 ; incident 
of the Daughter of Zion, 81 n ; 
description of Jacob, 86 ; allusions 
to education, 94 n, 133 n; lover 
of music, 103 n ; use of compounds 
with per, 105 n; rendering of the 
Wanton Damsels' Song, 112 n; 
allegory of the River of Death, 
119 ; allusions to Adam, 124 ; 
antidote to the Song of Love, 131 n; 
the blind beggar, 150 n ; the sacri- 
fice of Isaac, 158 n; the "sacred 
top," 175 n ; constitution of the 
universe, 180 n ; translation of 
" in the lowest parts of the earth," 
183 n ; influence of the stars, 184 n ; 
allusions to Divine guidance, 193 n ; 
to Manasses, 210 n ; the case of 
Theophrastus, 216; long sentences, 
222 n ; use of the word adulterina, 

226 n ; independent translations, 

227 n ; Council of State, 228 n \ 
"smooth-shaven grass," 232 n; prin- 
ciple of University Extension, 236 n ; 
opinion on education, 243 n ; on 
the teaching of political science, 
244 n ; use of centos, etc., 248 n ; 
faults of quantity, 251 ; sacred 
poetry, 258 n; miracle of Jordan, 
260 n ; on romantic and classical 
poetry, 265 n ; novelty of effusions, 
269 n ; division of argument, etc., 
272 n ; the phrase impia nox, 
275 n ; use of heathen names, 282 n ; 
the word nectarous, 282 n ; attribute 
given to angels, 284 n ; fictitious 
names, 289 n ; influence of the 
novel, 301 ; the probable " be- 
getter" of, 311-9; unconven- 
tional spirit, 316; personifications 



of the Armada epic, 330; simi- 
larities with the Gunpowder Plot 
poem, 330-5 ; requirements for 
the author, 335 ; use of the word 
Belgia, 337 ; Terror's laugh, 339- 
44; the angel-swan simile, 345-8; 
views concerning the Creation, 
ii. 12 n, 18 ; note to Lecture, 18- 
21 ; its tone, 22; an infinite sin. 
35 ; natural instinct, 36 n; female 
characters, 44 ; doctrine of God's 
"just wrath," 64 n ; mortality of 
the soul, 113 M; philosophy, 131 n ; 
" tale of the sea," 143 n ; theory of 
the Trinity, 1 54 n ; translation of 
the Psalms, 1 68 n, 220 , 294; dis- 
tinction between resipiscentia and 
poenitentia, 175 n > views on angels, 
187 n ; the Quaker element. 194 n ; 
an Anti-Paedobaptist, 198 ; view 
of marriage, 207 n; times of spirit- 
ual ecstasy, 217 n, 275 n; the 
pageant, 223 ; Bridal Song of 
Heavenly Love, 229-242, 257-9, 
296-301 ; personification of Horror, 
232 n ; " adoring birds," 234 n ; 
the word worship left out, 241 ; 
change to the first person, 242 ; 
Printer's Addendum, 243; Errata, 
243 ; Autocriticon, 244-6 ; allu- 
sion to Apelles, 245 n; use of the 
word institute, 245 n ; compared 
with Nova Atlantis, 247-50 ; 
Joseph's Hymn to God, 253; end- 
ings of the original lyrics, 256 ; 
Latin poems, 261-301, 317; variety 
of metres, 263-6, 274 ; Approach 
of Spring, 267; igneus vigor, 272 M; 
Armada epic, 277-87 ; sublime 
conceptions, 281 n; influence of 
Virgil, 281 n; mistakes in prosody, 
283 n ; alcaics, 293 ; use of the 
word barbarus, 299 ; Prose Selec- 
tions from the Original Latin, 302- 
7 ; method of versification, 308- 
15; punctuation, 316; style of 
prose, 319, 326; number of dim- 
inutives, 321-3 ; unusual words, 
324 ; parallel passages, 325 ; eagle- 
winged Victory, 335, 351 ; use of 
the word Belgia, 338, 341 ; Britonum, 
343 ; references to the phoenix, 348 ; 
Bibliography of books similar to, 
357-64; of Romances of a somewhat 
similar kind, 365-87 ; Bibliography 
the only two original romances, 388- 
96; other romances of same class, 
but later than, 396-400 
Novel, influence of, i. 301 n ; threefold 

division, 302 ; epic standard, 

302 n 

Nuga difficiles, i. 248 
Nuncius Inanimntus, ii. 395 
Nyndge, Alexander, the case of, i. 217 
Nyndge, Edward, i. 217 

OBLONGUS, use of the word, i. 151 ; 

" 325 
Ocklande, Christopher, Anglorum 

praelia, ii. 344 

Ode, Jacobus, De Angelis, i. 290 n 
Offirmatus, i. 138 w 
Oliphant, Laurence, his visions, ii. 

Omnibus modis consummata, i. 190 n ; 

numeris absoltitum, 196 n 
Ophir, Kingdom of, ii. 382 
Oscula, meaning of the word, ii. 297 
Ouida, i. 302*1 
Overton, R., Man's Mortalitie, ii. 113 n 
Ovid, his Metamorphoses, i. 243 n 

on stryges, 293 n ; line from, ii. HIM; 

on the elegiac metre, 264 ; mistakes 

in scansion, 283 n; avoidance of 

diminutives, 322 
Owen, his Latin epigrams, i. 263 

PALMER, PROF. E., ii. 324 

Pannuciam, i. 145 n 

Paradise Lost, i. 40, 76 ; number of 
editions between 1750 and 1 800, 
60 ; Preface to, 265 n ; division, 
272 n ; names of angels, 289 ; lines 
on the Creation, ii. 13 n ; the last 
two lines, 255 ; criticism on, 258 

Paradise Regained, i. 88 n; the last 
lines, ii. 255 et seqq 

Pascal, i. 194 n ; his visions, ii. 218 n 

Paternity, monograph on a question 
of, i. 70 

Pattison, Mark, i. 19 ; ii. 266 ; on 
Milton's relations to the fair sex, 
i- 3. 37 J his forecast of the title 
New Jerusalem, 36, 69 ; on the 
quality of Milton's Latin poems, 
52 ; on his description of Rome, 
169 ; on his character, 200 n; on 
his defects in natural history, 278 n 

Paul, Herbert, i. 55 

Peck, Rev. Francis, Memoirs of Milton, 
i. 26, 193 ; his "Miltonic finds," 


Pell, 315 
Pemble, William, De Formarum 

Origine, ii. 19 n 

Pembroke, Philip, Earl of, i. 321 
Pendemiis, ii. 61 n 
Pens, prizes of, i. 250 n 



Penseroso, II, i. 62 

Pergamus, Eumenes II., King of, ii. 

118 M 

Perplacere, i. 105 n 
Persane, ii. 324 
Pervigilium Veneris, ii. 237 M; metre 

of, 301 

Peterhouse Chapel, ii. 187 n 
Petersen, J. W., his adoption of the 

Copernican theory, ii. 12 n 
Petherick, Mr., his article on the 

authorship of Mundus Alter et 

Idem, i. 17 

Petrarch, his use of Latin, i. 14 
Petty, Sir William, i. 238 , 311, 315 
Phantasma, i. 115 
Phillips, Edward, i. 59, 104 M, 314; his 

pupils, 321; books, 321; character, 

322, 324 ; result of Milton's training, 

320, 321, 324; on his manner of 

teaching, 321 ; Theatrum, H. 348 
Phillips, John, i. 59, 104 n ; his use 

of oblongus, 151 n ; ii. 325 ; result 

of Milton's training,!. 320, 321, 324; 

his character, 322, 324 ; literary 

productions, 322 ; number of the 

same name, 323 

Phoenix myth, ii. 234 n, 266, 347-53 
Pike, G. H., Cromwell and his Times, 

i. 13 n 
Pindar, Peter, on the horrors of night, 

ii. 136 n ; his odes, 263, 264 
Plato, his theory of teaching children 

by myths, i. 128 n 

Plautus, his use of diminutives, ii. 323 
Playfere, Dr., i. 13 
Pliny, his use of the words phan- 

tasma, i. U5; oblongus, 151 ; 

Belgica, ii. 340 
Plotinus, his beatific visions, i. 193 n; 

ii. 217 n, 275 n 

Poenitentia and Resipiscentia, distinc- 
tion between, ii. I75 
Poetry, difference between romantic 

and classical, i. 265 n ; three kinds 

of, 302 n 

Politics, study of, ii. 7 n 
Poniatovia, Christina, the case of, i. 

Pope, i. 265 n; his rendering of Virgil's 

lines, 340 
Porphyry, his visions, i. 193 n; ii. 

217 n 

Powell, Mary, ii. io6; 304 n 
Powell, Mr., his death, i. 314 
Price, Prof. Bonamy, i. 194*1 
Proctor, Mr., i. 7 
Prolusio Oratorio, i. IO2 n 
Propertius, his use of the words 

cessare amort, i. 108 n ; avoidance 

of diminutives, ii. 322 
Proufs Reliques, Father, ii. 312 
Prudentia, i. 242 n ; civilis, ii. 7 n 
Psalms, translations of the, i. 183 n; 

ii. 167-9 M, 22OM, 263, 273, 294 
Purchas, His Pilgrimes, ii. 143 n 
Purissimus actus, ii. I53 
Puritans, religious views, i. 291 n; 

ii. 216 n; belief in the devil, i. 213 n; 

practice of casting lots, ii. 1 14 n 
Puteanus, Erycius, Comus, i. 15, now, 

127 ; ii. 100 n, 323, 326, 385 
Puttenham, his Art of English Poesie, 

i. 316 
Pythonissa, the term, i. 279 n 

QUARITCH'S Catalogue, i. 325 
Quevedo, The Travels of Don Fran- 
cisco de, ii. 392 
Quibus excubiis, i. 214 n 
Quincey, De, on Milton's verse, i. 266 n 
Quintum Novembris, In, compared 
with the Armada epic, i. 330-5 


Raleigh, Prof., on the character of 
Milton's love poems, i. 31, 32 ; 
literary forecast, 37 ; on sacred 
poetry, 258 n ; on the harmony of 
Milton's verse, 266 n ; on his Puri- 
tanism, ii. i6o 

Ranters, sect of, ii. 200 n, 203 n 

Rawley, Dr., ii. 372 

Rawlins, John, The Wonderful Recovery 
of the Exchange of Bristow, etc., 
ii. 143 n 

Ready Way, The, to Establish a Free 
Commonwealth, i. 228 , 237 n 

Reber, Dr. Joseph, on Milton's Latin 
verses, ii. 317 

Reformation in England, i. 222 n, 
326; ii. 155 n 

Resipiscentia &nApoenitentia, distinction 
between, ii. 175 n 

Reusnerus, N., ii. 100 

Richardson, on Milton's times of in- 
spiration, i. 194 n 

Richelieu, i. 84 n ; admiration of 
Argenis, 15 

Rive, David de la, case of, i. 216 

Roberts, Alexander, his Treatise on 
Witchcraft, i. 213 n 

Robinson, Ralph, ii. 373 n 

Rochester, his love songs, i. 31 

Romance, rough general classification 
f 357-9 J Pastoral, 359 ; Picar- 
esque, 359; Heroical, 359; German, 
361 ; the Utopian, of an Ideal City 

4 I2 


or State, 361; Political, 362; Alle- 
gorical, 362 ; the Modern Latin, of 
Elegant Satire, 362 ; Fictitious 
Travels, 363 ; Social, 363 ; Utopian, 
in Order of Date, 365 ; Neo-Latin, 
of Elegant Satire, ii. 385 ; Biblio- 
graphy of the only two companions 
in England (1600-50) of Nova Soly- 
nta, etc., 388-96; other romances 
of same class, but later than Nova 
Solyma, 396-400 

Romances, love of, i. 298 n ; influence 
of, 301 n 

Ronsard, presents Du Bartas with a 
gold pen, i. 251 M 

Rosebery, Lord, on Cromwell, i. 61 

Ross, Alexander, i. 75, 335 ; ii. 153 n; 
on the Copernican theory, ii. 1 1 n 

Rous, Francis, i. 12 , 335 ; Ode to, 
i. 69 ; ii. 263, 310 

Ruddiman, Thomas, on the writers 
of Latin lyrics, ii. 262 

Ruhnken, his use of diminutives, ii. 
321 n 

Ruskin, his use of long sentences, 
i. 222 n 

Sabbath, Ode to the, ii. 238 ; 295 
Sacrum Canticum, ii. 257 
Sadler, John, Olbia, i. 317; ii. 377-9 
Saintsbury, George, his translation of 

Essays on English Literature, i. 37 n ; 

on Milton's long sentences, 223 n ; 

extract from his Early Renaissance, 

ii. 318 
Salmasius, i. 20, 281 n, ii. 336 ; on 

Milton's use of the word Belgia, 

i- 337 J " 338 
Saltmarsh, John, his Poemata Sacra, 

\. 263 n 

Saltts populi suprema lex, ii. 31 M 
Sammonicus, Q. Serenus, ii. 303 ; 

recipe for a virginal bust, 304 
Bancroft, Archbishop, i. 335 
Sannazar, i. 274 , 278 n ; De partu 

Virginis, i. 344 ; ii. 278 n ; his Latin 

verse, ii. 281 n, 317 
Sarissae, i. 243 n 
Scaliger, Julius Caesar, his epigram, 

i. 249 n 
Scherer, M. Edmond, extract from 

Essays on English Literature, i. 37 
Schmidt, Dr. Immanuel, i. 127 n ; his 

notes on Comus, ii. 385 
Schopenhauer, on the work of genius, 

i.6 3 
Scioppius, Caspar, his Clarion of the 

Sacred War, ii. 221 n 

Scott, Sir Walter, on Milton, i. 40; 

influence of his novels, 302 n 
Sea, the source of rivers, ii. 9 n 
Seccombe, Mr., on the influence of 

Sylvester on Milton, i. 232 n 
Sedley, his love songs, i. 31 
Selden, Thomas, i. 335, 336; com- 
pared with Milton, i. 63 
Seminal forms, doctrine of, ii. 20 n, 40 n 
Servus, his Scholia ad Aeneid, ii. 337 
Shakespeare, i. 74 
Siden, Captain, The History of the 

Sevarites of Severambi, ii. 379 
Sidney, Sir Philip, i. 233 n ; his 

Apologie for Poetry, 316 
Singleton, R. C, his rendering of 

Virgil's lines, i. 340 
" Sky, ethereal," expression of, ii. 

222 n 

Slave, method of freeing a, ii. 3 
Smectymnuus, Apology for, extracts 

from, i. 9 . 33, 298 n; Postscript 

to, i. 54 

" Smile," description of a, i. 343 
Smith, Dictionary of Mythology, ii. 

234 n 
Smith, Thomas, his translation of the 

Nuncius, ii. 394 
Socrates, his visions, i. 194 n ; ii. 

218 M 
Solomon, the Book of the Wisdom 

of, ii. 291 
Sophocles, ii. 264 
Sortes biblicae, i. 249 n ; virgilianae, 

248 n 
Soul, views on the mortality of the, 

ii. 113* 
Souterius, Daniel, his Latin epic 

Belgidos, ii. 339 
Southcott, Joanna, her visions, ii. 

275 n 

Spadius, Johannes Baptista, i. 248 n 
Spain, ships of, i. 292 n the Picar- 
esque romances of, i. 298 n 
Spargere, ii. 268 n, 298 
Spcctacula, i. 82 n 
Spedding, Mr. James, his edition of 

Bacon's works, i. 71; on his New 

Atlantis, ii. 248 
Spencer, John, his Discourse concerning 

Prodigies, i. 1 66 n 
Spenser, the Platonist poet, i. 268 n ; 

lines from, 290 n, 294 n ; personifi- 
cation of Horror, ii. 232 n 
Spira, the case of, ii. 52 n 
Spoletanus, Justulus, the poetical 

works of, i. 332 n 

Sportive Wit; or, the Muses' Merri- 
ment, publication of, i. 324 



Spring, The Approach of, ii. 267 
Spurgeon, C. H., his conception of 

Hell, ii. 64 n 
Stars, belief in the influence of the, 

i. 164 n, 184 M; ii. 306*1 
Statius, i. 343 

Statutninabant, i. 79 M J " 3 2 4 
Statuminare argumento, ii. 303 
Stearne, A Confirmation and Discovery 

of Witchcraft, i. 214 n 
Stellula, ii. 324 
Stengel, Father, ii. 371 
Sternhold, Thomas, i. 258 n 
Stiblin, Caspar, Contmentariolus de 

Eudaemonensium Republicd, ii. U7 M 


Stockwood, John, headmaster of Ton- 
bridge School, poem on, i. 251 n 

Strada, Famianus, ii. 348 

Stradling, John, his use of the word 
Belgica, ii. 342 

Stryges, or night birds, i. 293 n 

Sturbridge Fair, i. 2io 

Sturm, i. 94 n 

Suetonius, ii. 38 n 

Supereminuisse, i. 82 n 

Susenbrotus, his Epitome Troporum et 
Schematum Grammaticalium, i. 255 

Swedenborg, Emmanuel de, i. 8 ; his 
visions, ii. 218 , 275^ 

Sylvester, Joshua, Du Bartas, \. 
158 n, 159 n, 272 n; ii. 14 n, i6; 
his lines on the universe, i. i8o; 
lines on Jordan, 261 n ; his use of 
odd epithets, 232 n ; rendering of 
Panchaean fumes, ii. 231 n; on the 
phoenix, 353 

Sylvosa castella, i. 292 n 

Symonds, J. Addington, i. 266 ; 
Renaissance in Italy, i. 41 n 

TACITUS, his use of the word oblongus, 

i. 151 n 
Taine, on Puritan literature, i. 24; 

criticism on Paradise Lost, ii. 258 
Tasso, Bernardo, i. 290 n, 343 ; his 

Jerusalem Delivered, i. 273 n ; ii. 352 ; 

"Council of Hell," i. 332; his 

interest in the phoenix, ii. 351 
Tatius, Achilles, ii. 348 
Taubmannus, Fredericus, ii. 100 n 
Taylor, Mr. Edward, on Milton's 

knowledge of music, i. 38 
Taylor, the Water-Poet, his tales of 

the sea, ii. 144 

Taylors, Thomas, number of, i. 323 
Tennyson, Lord, on Milton's simplicity, 

i. 105 n ; his use of the expression 

(l brute earth," 184 ; on ecstatic 

visions, 194 ; on the process of 
poetry, ii. 301 n 
Tenure of Kings and Magistrates, ii. 

Terror's laugh, i. 339; ii. 281 n. (See 

Theophrastus, note to the case of, 

i. 216-20 
Thomas, Rev. John, sermon on The 

Ideal City, i. 67 
Thomason, the bookseller, i. 26 n ; 

his series of publications between 

1638 and 1660, i. 2 
Thomson, Mrs., i. 193 n 
Thorpe, Thomas, i. 251 n 
Threni and epicedia, i. 233 n 
Tibullus, his avoidance of diminutives, 

ii. 322 
Times, The, on the authorship of the 

Odyssey, i. 76 
Todd, his Life of Milton, ii. 243 ; 

on Milton's Latin prose, 327 
Toland, on Milton's taste for music, 


Tolmer, John, the Naumachiae of, i. 26 
Tonbridge School, prize-giving day, 

i. 251 n 
Tonson, C., headmaster of Winchester, 

i. 42 n ; his distich, 42 n 
Torrcelli, i. 191 n 
Treitschke, Heinrich von, his literary 

forecast on Milton, i. 37, 69 ; on the 

Hymn on the Nativity, 68 ; the value 

of his prose writings, 68 
Trinity, treatise on the, ii. 154 rt', 

theory of the, 155 n 
Tulloch, Principal, English Puritanism, 

Tyana, Apollonius of, his visions, ii. 

275 H 
Tyndall, Prof., Glimpses of Farringford, 

i. 194 n 
Tyrannical Government Anatomised, 

etc., i. 54 

UNDERBILL, THOMAS, publisher of Nova 

Solyma, i. 6, 318 
Universe, theory on the origin of, i. 

172 n; constitution of the, 180 n 
University Extension movement, i. 

96 n, 236 n 

Universus homo, ii. 58 n 
Usher, Bishop, i. 335 
Utrum Dies an Nox praestantior sit ? 

number of diminutives in, ii. 320 

Vagabonds, The Fraternity of, i. 150 n 
Vairasse, d'Allais, Denis, Histoire des 
Severambes, ii. 379 



Valle de Moura, Emmanuele de, De 

Ensalmis, ii. 276 
Valmarana, Odoricus, i. 269 n ; 

Daemonotnachia, 25 
Valpy, ii. 349 
Vanini, Lucilio, ii. 154 n 
Varro, i. 78 n ; on Victory, ii. 335 
Vegius, Maphaeus, De Educatione 

Liberorum, i. 94 n; on the education 

of girls, 94 ; charge against 

female servants, 95 
Velser of Augsburg, i. 247 n 
Vergerius, i. 304 
Victory, eagle-winged, ii. 333-7 
Vida, Marcus Hieronymus, Christiad, 

i. 332 ; ii. 286 ; his Latin verse, ii. 

317 ; Poetics, 318 
Virgil, lines from the Aeneid, i. 115 n, 

340, 345 ; his influence on Milton, 

ii. 28 1 n ; mistakes in scansion, 283 n ; 

his use of the word barbarus, 299 n ; 

imitated by Milton, 308 ; method 

of versification, 308-14; translations 

into hexameters, ii. 316; his one 

diminutive, 322 
Vision and Amulet, i. 194 n 
"Vision of Adonai," ii. 218 n ; details 

of, 218, 219 n 
Vit, Vincentius de, Totius Latinitatis 

Onomasticon, ii. 340 
Vitruvius, his expression silvosa arbor, 

i. 292 n 

Vlacq, Adrian, i. 7 
Volucres noti, ii. 238 n 
Vossius, Isaac, ii. 380 

WALLER, Edmund, i. 265 , 335 

Wallis, i. 315 

Wanley, Nathaniel, his Discourse of 

Constancy, ii. 341 
Wanton Damsels' song, i. 1 12 ; ii. 

270; Joseph's Reply to, ii. 271 
Ward, F. H., English Poets, i. 51 
Warton, on Milton's sense of harmony, 

i. 38; on his epic poem, 333; on 

the last lines of Paradise Regained 

ii- 255 

Websters, John, number of, i. 322 
Wesleyans, appeal to a " decision by 

lot," ii. 114 
Wightman, Edward, his execution, 

ii. 198 n 
Wilkinsons, Henry, number of, i. 


Wishartt, his Immanuel, i. 261 n 
Witches, the "watching" of, i. 214 n ; 

term for, 293 n 
Wollebius, ii. 153 n; compendium of, 

II n; his Christian Divinity, 156 n 
Wood, Anthony a, i. 258 n 
Woolnor, Henry, The True Original of 

the Soule, ii. 1 13 n 
Wordsworth, on ecstatic visions, i. 

194 n ; his definition of harmonious 

verse, 266 n 
Wotton, Sir Henry, i. 216, 247 n, 

335 ; his meditation on Abraham's 

act of faith, 161 n ; Reliquiae 

Wottonianae, 161 n 
Wroe, John, his visions, ii. 275 n 

XENOPHON, his Cyropaedia, i. I2n, 316 

YALDEN, MR., lines by, i. 291 n 
York, Duke and Duchess of, return 

from their voyage, ii. 225 n 
Young, Barth, i. 303 n 
Young, Patrick, on the phoenix, ii. 347 
Young, Thomas, tutor to Milton, i. 65 ; 
coincidences between his Dies 
Dominica and the discourse of 
Apollos, 65-7 ; on cases possessed 
by the devil, 216 ; his treatise on 
the Lord's Day, ii. 185 n, 189 n, 
192 n, 195 n 

ZEDLER, his Universal Lexicon, ii. 339 
Zesen, Philip von, Die Adriatische 
Rosetnund, ii. 397